Praise for The Well of Ascension
"Sanderson's hallmark is to take traditional high-fantasy tropes and turn
them upside down, and he doesn't disappoint here. Vin's a beautifully
realized protagonist whose struggles are wonderfully written and, as
always, the world-building is unusual and compelling."
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
"This entertaining read will especially please those who always wanted to
know what happened after the good guys won."
—Publishers Weekly
"Vin's struggles with love and power inject the human element into
Sanderson's engaging epic."
—Booklist
Praise for Mistborn
"Mistborn utilizes a well thought-out system of magic. It also has a great
cast of believable characters, a plausible world, an intriguing political
system, and a very satisfying ending. Highly recommended to anyone
hungry for a good read."
—Robin Hobb
"Brandon Sanderson made a sensational debut with Elantris as another in
the recent crop of fantasy writers who use familiar epic forms to produce
far-from-generic results. . .. Mistborn examines the makings of hero and
villain, legend and myth, as seemingly different stages of what may be the
same process. . .. [It's an] enjoyable, adventurous read. . .[and] along the
way to the grand finale, anyone who cares to can learn a great deal about
the underside of power."
—Faren Miller, Locus
Praise for Brandon Sanderson
"Brandon Sanderson is the real thing—an exciting story-teller with a
unique and powerful vision."
—David Farland
"It's rare for a fiction writer to have much understanding of how
leadership works, how communities form, and how love really takes root in
the human heart. Sanderson is astonishingly wise."
—Orson Scott Card
THE WELL OF ASCENSION
BOOK TWO OF MISTBORN
BRANDON SANDERSON
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK
NEW YORK
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events
portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are
used fictitiously.
THE WELL OF ASCENSION: BOOK TWO OF MISTBORN
Copyright © 2007 by Brandon Sanderson
All rights reserved.
Maps and ornaments by Isaac Stewart
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN: 978-0-7653-5613-0
THE WELL OF ASCENSION
TOR BOOKS BY BRANDON SANDERSON
Elantris
Mistborn
The Well of Ascension
The Hero of Ages*
FOR PHYLLIS CALL,
Who may never understand my fantasy books,
yet who taught me more about life
—and therefore writing—
than she can probably ever know
(Thanks, Grandma!)
CONTENTS
MAPS
PART ONE: Heir of the Survivor
PART TWO: Ghosts in the Mist
PART THREE: King
PART FOUR: Knives
PART FIVE: Snow and Ash
PART SIX: Words in Steel
EPILOGUE
ARS ARCANUM
1. Metals Quick-Reference Chart
2. Names and Terms
3. Summary of Book One
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First off, as always, my excellent agent, Joshua Bilmes, and editor,
Moshe Feder, deserve high praise for their efforts. This book in particular
required some thoughtful drafting, and they were up to the task. They have
my thanks, as do their assistants, Steve Mancino (an excellent agent in his
own right) and Denis Wong.
There are some other fine folks at Tor who deserve my thanks. Larry
Yoder (the best sales rep in the nation) did a wonderful job selling the book.
Seth Lerner, Tor's mass-market art director, is a genius at matching books to
artists. And, speaking of artists, I think the amazing Christian McGrath did
a brilliant job with this cover. More can be seen at christianmcgrath.com.
Isaac Stewart, a good friend of mine and a fellow writer, did all of the map
work and the symbols for the chapter headings. Find him at
nethermore.com. Shawn Boyles is the official Mistborn Llama artist, and a
great guy to boot. Check my Web site for more information. Finally, I'd like
to thank the Tor publicity department—specifically Dot Lin—which has
been wonderful in promoting my books and taking care of me. Thank you
so much, all of you!
Another round of thanks needs to go out to my alpha readers. These
tireless folks provide feedback on my novels in the early stages, dealing
with all of the problems, typos, and inconsistencies before I get them
worked out. In no particular order, these people are:
Ben Olson, Krista Olsen, Nathan Goodrich, Ethan Skarstedt, Eric J.
Ehlers, Jillena O'Brien, C. Lee Player, Kimball Larsen, Bryce Cundick,
Janci Patterson, Heather Kirby, Sally Taylor, The Almighty Pronoun,
Bradley Reneer, Holly Venable, Jimmy, Alan Layton, Janette Layton,
Kaylynn ZoBell, Rick Stranger, Nate Hatfield, Daniel A. Wells, Stacy
Whitman, Sarah Bylund, and Benjamin R. Olsen.
A special thanks goes to the people at the Provo Walden-books for their
support. Sterling, Robin, Ashley, and the terrible duo of Steve "Bookstore
Guy" Diamond and Ryan McBride (who were also alpha readers). Also, I
must acknowledge my brother, Jordan, for his work on my Web site (along
with Jeff Creer). Jordo also is the official "keep Brandon's head on straight"
guy, with his solemn duty being to make fun of me and my books.
My mother, father, and sisters are always a wonderful help as well. If I
forgot any alpha readers, I'm sorry! I'll put you in twice next time. Note,
Peter Ahlstrom, I didn't forget you—I just decided to stick you in late to
make you sweat a bit.
Finally, my thanks go out to my wonderful wife, whom I married during
the editing process of this book. Emily, I love you!
PART ONE
HEIR OF THE SURVIVOR
I write these words in steel, for anything not set in metal cannot be
trusted.
1
THE ARMY CREPT LIKE A dark stain across the horizo1n.
King Elend Venture stood motionless upon the Luthadel city wall,
looking out at the enemy troops. Around him, ash fell from the sky in fat,
lazy flakes. It wasn't the burnt white ash that one saw in dead coals; this
was a deeper, harsher black ash. The Ashmounts had been particularly
active lately.
Elend felt the ash dust his face and clothing, but he ignored it. In the
distance, the bloody red sun was close to setting. It backlit the army that
had come to take Elend's kingdom from him.
"How many?" Elend asked quietly.
"Fifty thousand, we think," Ham said, leaning against the parapet, beefy
arms folded on the stone. Like everything in the city, the wall had been
stained black by countless years of ashfalls.
"Fifty thousand soldiers. . ." Elend said, trailing off. Despite heavy
recruitment, Elend barely had twenty thousand men under his command—
and they were peasants with less than a year of training. Maintaining even
that small number was straining his resources. If they'd been able to find the
Lord Ruler's atium, perhaps things would be different. As it was, Elend's
rule was in serious danger of economic disaster.
"What do you think?" Elend asked.
"I don't know, El," Ham said quietly. "Kelsier was always the one with
the vision."
"But you helped him plan," Elend said. "You and the others, you were his
crew. You were the ones who came up with a strategy for overthrowing the
empire, then made it happen."
Ham fell silent, and Elend felt as if he knew what the man was thinking.
Kelsier was central to it all. He was the one who organized, the one who
took all of the wild brain-storming and turned it into a viable operation. He
was the leader. The genius.
And he'd died a year before, on the very same day that the people—as
part of his secret plan—had risen up in fury to overthrow their god emperor.
Elend had taken the throne in the ensuing chaos. Now it was looking more
and more like he would lose everything that Kelsier and his crew had
worked so hard to accomplish. Lose it to a tyrant who might be even worse
than the Lord Ruler. A petty, devious bully in "noble" form. The man who
had marched his army on Luthadel.
Elend's own father, Straff Venture.
"Any chance you can. . .talk him out of attacking?" Ham asked.
"Maybe," Elend said hesitantly. "Assuming the Assembly doesn't just
surrender the city."
"They close?"
"I don't know, honestly. I worry that they are. That army has frightened
them, Ham." And with good reason, he thought. "Anyway, I have a proposal
for the meeting in two days. I'll try to talk them out of doing anything rash.
Dockson got back today, right?"
Ham nodded. "Just before the army's advance."
"I think we should call a meeting of the crew," Elend said. "See if we can
come up with a way out of this."
"We'll still be pretty shorthanded," Ham said, rubbing his chin. "Spook
isn't supposed to be back for another week, and the Lord Ruler only knows
where Breeze went. We haven't had a message from him in months."
Elend sighed, shaking his head. "I can't think of anything else, Ham." He
turned, staring out over the ashen landscape again. The army was lighting
campfires as the sun set. Soon, the mists would appear.
I need to get back to the palace and work on that proposal, Elend thought.
"Where'd Vin run off to?" Ham asked, turning back to Elend.
Elend paused. "You know," he said, "I'm not sure."
Vin landed softly on the damp cobblestones, watching as the mists began
to form around her. They puffed into existence as darkness fell, growing
like tangles of translucent vines, twisting and wrapping around one another.
The great city of Luthadel was still. Even now, a year after the Lord
Ruler's death and the rise of Elend's new free government, the common
people stayed in their homes at night. They feared the mists, a tradition that
went far deeper than the Lord Ruler's laws.
Vin slipped forward quietly, senses alert. Inside herself, as always, she
burned tin and pewter. Tin enhanced her senses, making it easier for her to
see in the night. Pewter made her body stronger, made her lighter on her
feet. These, along with copper—which had the power to hide her use of
Allomancy from others who were burning bronze—were metals that she
left on almost all the time.
Some called her paranoid. She thought herself prepared. Either way, the
habit had saved her life on numerous occasions.
She approached a quiet street corner and paused, peeking out. She'd
never really understood how she burned metals; she could remember doing
it for as long as she'd been alive, using Allomancy instinctively even before
she was formally trained by Kelsier. It didn't really matter to her. She wasn't
like Elend; she didn't need a logical explanation for everything. For Vin, it
was enough that when she swallowed bits of metal, she was able to draw
upon their power.
Power she appreciated, for she well knew what it was like to lack it. Even
now, she was not what one would likely envision as a warrior. Slight of
frame and barely five feet tall, with dark hair and pale skin, she knew she
had an almost frail look about her. She no longer displayed the underfed
look she had during her childhood on the streets, but she certainly wasn't
someone any man would find intimidating.
She liked that. It gave her an edge—and she needed every edge she could
get.
She also liked the night. During the day, Luthadel was cramped and
confining despite its size. But at night the mists fell like a deep cloud. They
dampened, softened, shaded. Massive keeps became shadowed mountains,
and crowded tenements melted together like a chandler's rejected wares.
Vin crouched beside her building, still watching the intersection.
Carefully, she reached within herself and burned steel—one of the other
metals she'd swallowed earlier. Immediately, a group of translucent blue
lines sprang up around her. Visible only to her eyes, the lines pointed from
her chest to nearby sources of metal—all metals, no matter what type. The
thickness of the lines was proportionate to the size of the metal pieces they
met. Some pointed to bronze door latches, others to crude iron nails holding
boards together.
She waited silently. None of the lines moved. Burning steel was an easy
way to tell if someone was moving nearby. If they were wearing bits of
metal, they would trail telltale moving lines of blue. Of course, that wasn't
the main purpose of steel. Vin reached her hand carefully into her belt
pouch and pulled out one of the many coins that sat within, muffled by
cloth batting. Like all other bits of metal, this coin had a blue line extending
from its center to Vin's chest.
She flipped the coin into the air, then mentally grabbed its line and—
burning steel—Pushed on the coin. The bit of metal shot into the air, arcing
through the mists, forced away by the Push. It plinked to the ground in the
middle of the street.
The mists continued to spin. They were thick and mysterious, even to
Vin. More dense than a simple fog and more constant than any normal
weather pattern, they churned and flowed, making rivulets around her. Her
eyes could pierce them; tin made her sight more keen. The night seemed
lighter to her, the mists less thick. Yet, they were still there.
A shadow moved in the city square, responding to her coin—which she
had Pushed out into the square as a signal. Vin crept forward, and
recognized OreSeur the kandra. He wore a different body than he had a year
ago, during the days when he had acted the part of Lord Renoux. Yet, this
balding, nondescript body had now become just as familiar to Vin.
OreSeur met up with her. "Did you find what you were looking for,
Mistress?" he asked, tone respectful—yet somehow still a little hostile. As
always.
Vin shook her head, glancing around in the darkness. "Maybe I was
wrong," she said. "Maybe I wasn't being followed." The acknowledgment
made her a bit sad. She'd been looking forward to sparring with the Watcher
again tonight. She still didn't even know who he was; the first night, she'd
mistaken him for an assassin. And maybe he was. Yet, he seemed to display
very little interest in Elend—and a whole lot of interest in Vin.
"We should go back to the wall," Vin decided, standing up. "Elend will
be wondering where I went."
OreSeur nodded. At that moment, a burst of coins shot through the mists,
spraying toward Vin.
I have begun to wonder if I am the only sane man left. Can the others not
see? They have been waiting so long for their hero to come—the one spoken
of in Terris prophecies—that they quickly jump between conclusions,
presuming that each story and legend applies to this one man.
2
VIN REACTED IMMEDIATELY, SPRINGING AWAY. She moved with
incredible speed, tasseled cloak swirling as she skidded across the wet
cobblestones. The coins hit the ground behind her, throwing up chips of
stone, then leaving trails in the mist as they ricocheted away.
"OreSeur, go!" she snapped, though he was already fleeing toward a
nearby alleyway.
Vin spun into a low crouch, hands and feet on the cool stones, Allomantic
metals flaring in her stomach. She burned steel, watching the translucent
blue lines appear around her. She waited, tense, watching for. . .
Another group of coins shot from the dark mists, each one trailing a blue
line. Vin immediately flared steel and Pushed against the coins, deflecting
them out into the darkness.
The night fell still again.
The street around her was wide—for Luthadel—though tenements rose
high on either side. Mist spun lazily, making the ends of the street disappear
into a haze.
A group of eight men appeared from the mists and approached. Vin
smiled. She had been right: Someone was following her. These men
weren't, however, the Watcher. They didn't have his solid grace, his sense of
power. These men were something far more blunt. Assassins.
It made sense. If 1she had just arrived with an army to conquer Luthadel,
the first thing she'd have done was send in a group of Allomancers to kill
Elend.
She felt a sudden pressure at her side, and she cursed as she was thrown
off balance, her coin pouch jerking away from her waist. She ripped its
string free, letting the enemy Allomancer Push the coins away from her.
The assassins had at least one Coinshot—a Misting who had the power to
burn steel and Push on metals. In fact, two of the assassins trailed blue lines
pointing to coin pouches of their own. Vin considered returning the favor
and Pushing their pouches away, but hesitated. No need to play her hand
yet. She might need those coins.
Without coins of her own, she couldn't attack from a distance. However,
if this was a good team, then attacking from a distance would be pointless
—their Coinshots and Lurchers would be ready to deal with shot coins.
Fleeing wasn't an option either. These men hadn't come for her alone; if she
fled, they'd continue on to their real goal.
Nobody sent assassins to kill bodyguards. Assassins killed important
men. Men like Elend Venture, king of the Central Dominance. The man she
loved.
Vin flared pewter—body growing tense, alert, dangerous. Four Thugs at
the front, she thought, eyeing the advancing men. The pewter burners would
be inhumanly strong, capable of surviving a great deal of physical
punishment. Very dangerous up close. And the one carrying the wooden
shield is a Lurcher.
She feinted forward, causing the approaching Thugs to jump backward.
Eight Mistings against one Mistborn was decent odds for them—but only if
they were careful. The two Coinshots moved up the sides of the street, so
that they'd be able to Push at her from both directions. The last man,
standing quietly beside the Lurcher, had to be a Smoker—relatively
unimportant in a fight, his purpose was to hide his team from enemy
Allomancers.
Eight Mistings. Kelsier could have done it; he'd killed an Inquisitor. She
wasn't Kelsier, however. She had yet to decide if that was a bad or a good
thing.
Vin took a deep breath, wishing she had a bit of atium to spare, and
burned iron. This let her Pull on a nearby coin—one of those that had been
shot at her—much as steel would have let her Push on it. She caught it,
dropped it, then jumped, making as if to Push on the coin and shoot herself
into the air.
One of the Coinshots, however, Pushed against the coin, shooting it
away. Since Allomancy would only let a person Push directly away from—
or Pull directly toward—their body, Vin was left without a decent anchor.
Pushing against the coin would only shoot her sideways.
She dropped back to the ground.
Let them think they have me trapped, she thought, crouching in the center
of the street. The Thugs approached a little more confidently. Yes, Vin
thought. I know what you're thinking. This is the Mistborn who killed the
Lord Ruler? This scrawny thing? Can it be possible?
I wonder the same thing myself.
The first Thug ducked in to attack, and Vin burst into motion. Obsidian
daggers flashed in the night as she ripped them free from their sheaths, and
blood sprayed black in the darkness as she ducked beneath the Thug's staff
and slashed her weapons across his thighs.
The man cried out. The night was no longer silent.
Men cursed as Vin moved through them. The Thug's partner attacked her
—blurrin1gly fast, his muscles fueled by pewter. His staff whipped a tassel
from Vin's mistcloak as she threw herself to the ground, then pushed herself
back up out of a third Thug's reach.
A spray of coins flew toward her. Vin reached out and Pushed on them.
The Coinshot, however, continued to Push—and Vin's Push smashed
against his.
Pushing and Pulling metals was all about weight. And—with the coins
between them—that meant Vin's weight was slammed against the assassin's
weight. Both were tossed backward. Vin shot out of a Thug's reach; the
Coinshot fell to the ground.
A flurry of coins came at her from the other direction. Still tumbling in
the air, Vin flared steel, giving herself an extra burst of power. Blue lines
were a jumbled mess, but she didn't need to isolate the coins to Push them
all away.
This Coinshot let go of his missiles as soon as he felt Vin's touch. The
bits of metal scattered out into the mists.
Vin hit the cobblestones shoulder-first. She rolled—flaring pewter to
enhance her balance—and flipped to her feet. At the same time, she burned
iron and Pulled hard on the disappearing coins.
They shot back toward her. As soon as they got close, Vin jumped to the
side and Pushed them toward the approaching Thugs. The coins, however,
immediately veered away, twisting through the mists toward the Lurcher.
He was unable to Push the coins away—like all Mistings, he only had one
Allomantic power, and his was to Pull with iron.
He did this effectively, protecting the Thugs. He raised his shield and
grunted from the impact as the coins hit it and bounced away.
Vin was already moving again. She ran directly for the now exposed
Coinshot to her left, the one who had fallen to the ground. The man yelped
in surprise, and the other Coinshot tried to distract Vin, but he was too slow.
The Coinshot died with a dagger in his chest. He was no Thug; he
couldn't burn pewter to enhance his body. Vin pulled out her dagger, then
yanked his pouch free. He gurgled quietly and collapsed back to the stones.
One, Vin thought, spinning, sweat flying from her brow. She now faced
seven men down the corridor-like street. They probably expected her to
flee. Instead, she charged.
As she got close to the Thugs, she jumped—then threw down the pouch
she'd taken from the dying man. The remaining Coinshot cried out,
immediately Pushing it away. Vin, however, got some lift from the coins,
throwing herself in a leap directly over the heads of the Thugs.
One of them—the wounded one—had unfortunately been smart enough
to remain behind to protect the Coinshot. The Thug raised his cudgel as Vin
landed. She ducked his first attack, raised her dagger, and—
A blue line danced into her vision. Quick. Vin reacted immediately,
twisting and Pushing against a door latch to throw herself out of the way.
She hit the ground on her side, then flung herself up with one hand. She
landed skidding on mist-wetted feet.
A coin hit the ground behind her, bouncing against the cobbles. It hadn't
come close to hitting her. In fact, it had seemed aimed at the remaining
assassin Coinshot. He'd probably been forced to Push it away.
But who had fired it?
OreSeur? Vin wondered. But, that was foolish. The kandra was no
Allomancer—and besides, he wouldn't have taken the initiative. OreSeur
did only what he was expre1ssly told.
The assassin Coinshot looked equally confused. Vin glanced up, flaring
tin, and was rewarded with the sight of a man standing atop a nearby
building. A dark silhouette. He didn't even bother to hide.
It's him, she thought. The Watcher.
The Watcher remained atop his perch, offering no further interference as
the Thugs rushed Vin. She cursed as she found three staves coming at her at
once. She ducked one, spun around the other, then planted a dagger in the
chest of the man holding the third. He stumbled backward, but didn't drop.
Pewter kept him on his feet.
Why did the Watcher interfere? Vin thought as she jumped away. Why
would he shoot that coin at a Coinshot who could obviously Push it away?
Her preoccupation with the Watcher nearly cost her her life as an
unnoticed Thug charged her from the side. It was the man whose legs she'd
slashed. Vin reacted-just in time to dodge his blow. This, however, put her
into range of the other three.
All attacked at once.
She actually managed to twist out of the way of two of the strikes. One,
however, crashed into her side. The powerful blow tossed her across the
street, and she collided with a shop's wooden door. She heard a crack—
from the door, fortunately, and not her bones—and she slumped to the
ground, daggers lost. A normal person would be dead. Her pewterstrengthened body, however, was tougher than that.
She gasped for breath, forcing herself up to her feet, and flared tin. The
metal enhanced her senses—including her sense of pain—and the sudden
shock cleared her mind. Her side ached where she'd been struck. But she
couldn't stop. Not with a Thug charging her, swinging his staff in an
overhead blow.
Crouching before the doorway, Vin flared pewter and caught the staff in
both hands. She growled, pulling back her left hand, then cracking her fist
against the weapon, shattering the fine hardwood in a single blow. The
Thug stumbled, and Vin smashed her half of the staff across his eyes.
Though dazed, he stayed on his feet. Can't fight the Thugs, she thought. I
have to keep moving.
She dashed to the side, ignoring her pain. The Thugs tried to follow, but
she was lighter, thinner, and—much more important—faster. She circled
them, coming back toward the Coinshot, Smoker, and Lurcher. A wounded
Thug had again retreated to protect these men.
As Vin approached, the Coinshot threw a double handful of coins at her.
Vin Pushed the coins away, then reached out and Pulled on the ones in the
bag at the man's waist.
The Coinshot grunted as the bag whipped toward Vin. It was tied by a
short tether to his waist, and the pull of her weight jerked him forward. The
Thug grabbed and steadied him.
And since her anchor couldn't move, Vin was instead Pulled toward it.
She flared her iron, flying through the air, raising a fist. The Coinshot cried
out and he pulled a tie to free the bag.
Too late. Vin's momentum carried her forward, and she drove her fist into
the Coinshot's cheek as she passed. His head spun around, neck snapping.
As Vin landed, she brought her elbow up into the surprised Thug's chin,
tossing him backward. Her foot followed, crashing against the Thug's neck.
Neither rose. That was three down. The discarded coin pouch fell to the
ground, breaking and throwing a hundred sparkling bits o1f copper across
the cobblestones around Vin. She ignored the throbbing in her elbow and
faced down the Lurcher. He stood with his shield, looking strangely
unworried.
A crack sounded behind her. Vin cried out, her tin-enhanced ears
overreacting to the sudden sound. Pain shot through her head, and she
raised hands to her ears. She'd forgotten the Smoker, who stood holding two
lengths of wood, crafted to make sharp noises when pounded together.
Movements and reactions, actions and consequences—these were the
essence of Allomancy. Tin made her eyes pierce the mists—giving her an
edge over the assassins. However, the tin also made her ears extremely
acute. The Smoker raised his sticks again. Vin growled and yanked a
handful of coins off the cobblestones, then shot them at the Smoker. The
Lurcher, of course, Pulled them toward him instead. They hit the shield and
bounced free. And as they sprayed into the air, Vin carefully Pushed one so
it fell behind him.
The man lowered his shield, unaware of the coin Vin had manipulated.
Vin Pulled, whipping the single coin directly toward her—and into the back
of the Lurcher's chest. He fell without a sound.
Four.
All fell still. The Thugs running toward her drew to a stop, and the
Smoker lowered his sticks. They had no Coinshots and no Lurchers—
nobody that could Push or Pull metal—and Vin stood amid a field of coins.
If she used them, even the Thugs would fall quickly. All she had to do was
—
Another coin shot through the air, fired from the Watcher's rooftop. Vin
cursed, ducking. The coin, however, didn't strike her. It took the stickholding Smoker directly in the forehead. The man toppled backward, dead.
What? Vin thought, staring at the dead man.
The Thugs charged, but Vin retreated, frowning. Why kill the Smoker? He
wasn't a threat anymore.
Unless. . .
Vin extinguished her copper, then burned bronze, the metal that let her
sense when other Allomancers were using powers nearby. She couldn't feel
the Thugs burning pewter. They were still being Smoked, their Allomancy
hidden.
Someone else was burning copper.
Suddenly, it all made sense. It made sense that the group would risk
attacking a full Mistborn. It made sense that the Watcher had fired at the
Coinshot. It made sense that he had killed the Smoker.
Vin was in grave danger.
She only had a moment to make her decision. She did so on a hunch, but
she'd grown up on the streets, a thief and a scam artist. Hunches felt more
natural to her than logic ever would.
"OreSeur!" she yelled. "Go for the palace!"
It was a code, of course. Vin jumped back, momentarily ignoring the
Thugs as her servant ducked out of an alleyway. He pulled something off
his belt and whipped it toward Vin: a small glass vial, the kind that
Allomancers used to store metal shavings. Vin quickly Pulled the vial to her
hand. A short distance away, the second Coinshot—who had lain there, as if
dead—now cursed and scrambled to his feet.
Vin spun, drinking the vial with a quick gulp. It contained only a single
bead of metal. Atium. She couldn't risk carrying it on her own body—
couldn't risk having it Pulled away from her during a fight. She'd ordered
OreSeur to remain close this night, ready to give her the vial in an
emergency.
The "Coinshot" pulled a hidden glass dagger from his waist, charging at
Vin ahead of the Thugs, who were getting close. Vin paused for just a
moment—regretting her decision, but seeing its inevitability.
The men had hidden a Mistborn among their numbers. A Mistborn like
Vin, a person who could burn all ten metals. A Mistborn who had been
waiting for the right moment to strike at her, to catch her unprepared.
He would have atium, and there was only one way to fight someone who
had atium. It was the ultimate Allomantic metal, usable only by full
Mistborn, and it could easily decide the fate of a battle. Each bead was
worth a fortune—but what good was a fortune if she died?
Vin burned her atium.
The world around her seemed to change. Every moving object—
swinging shutters, blowing ash, attacking Thugs, even trails of mist—shot
out a translucent replica of itself. The replicas moved just in front of their
real counterparts, showing Vin exactly what would happen a few moments
in the future.
Only the Mistborn was immune. Rather than shooting out a single atium
shadow, he released dozens—the sign that he was burning atium. He paused
just briefly. Vin's own body would have just exploded with dozens of
confusing atium shadows. Now that she could see the future, she could see
what he was going to do. That, in turn, changed what she was going to do.
That changed what he was going to do. And so, like the reflections in two
mirrors facing each other, the possibilities continued into infinity. Neither
had an advantage.
Though their Mistborn paused, the four unfortunate Thugs continued to
charge, having no way to know that Vin burned atium. Vin turned, standing
beside the body of the fallen Smoker. With one foot, she kicked the
soundsticks into the air.
A Thug arrived, swinging. His diaphanous atium shadow of a staff blow
passed through her body. Vin twisted, ducking to the side, and could feel the
real staff pass over her ear. The maneuver seemed easy within the aura of
atium.
She snatched one of the soundsticks from the air, then slammed it up into
the Thug's neck. She spun, catching the other soundstick, then twisted back
and cracked it against the man's skull. He fell forward, groaning, and Vin
spun again, easily dodging between two more staves.
She smashed the noise sticks against the sides of a second Thug's head.
They shattered—ringing with a hollow sound like that of a musician's beat
—as the Thug's skull cracked.
He fell, and did not move again. Vin kicked his staff into the air, then
dropped the broken soundsticks and caught it. She spun, twisting the staff
and tripping both remaining Thugs at once. In a fluid motion, she delivered
two swift—yet powerful—blows to their faces.
She fell to a crouch as the men died, holding the staff in one hand, her
other hand resting against the mist-wetted cobbles. The Mistborn held back,
and she could see uncertainty in his eyes. Power didn't necessarily mean
competence, and his two best advantages—surprise and atium—had been
negated.
He turned, Pulling a group of coins up off the ground, then shot them.
Not toward Vin—but toward OreSeur, who still stood in the mouth of an
alleyway. The Mistborn obviously hoped that Vin's concern for her servant
would draw her attention away, perhaps letting him escape.
He was wrong.
Vin ignored the coins, dashing forward. Even as OreSeur cried out in
pain—a 1dozen coins piercing his skin—Vin threw her staff at the
Mistborn's head. Once it left her fingers, however, its atium shadow became
firm and singular.
The Mistborn assassin ducked, dodging perfectly. The move distracted
him long enough for her to close the distance, however. She needed to
attack quickly; the atium bead she'd swallowed had been small. It would
burn out quickly. And, once it was gone, she'd be exposed. Her opponent
would have total power over her. He—
Her terrified opponent raised his dagger. At that moment, his atium ran
out.
Vin's predatory instincts reacted instantly, and she swung a fist. He raised
an arm to block her blow, but she saw it coming, and she changed the
direction of her attack. The blow took him square in the face. Then, with
deft fingers, she snatched his glass dagger before it could fall and shatter.
She stood and swung it through her opponent's neck.
He fell quietly.
Vin stood, breathing heavily, the group of assassins dead around her. For
just a moment, she felt overwhelming power. With atium, she was
invincible. She could dodge any blow, kill any enemy.
Her atium ran out.
Suddenly, everything seemed to grow dull. The pain in her side returned
to her mind, and she coughed, groaning. She'd have bruises—large ones.
Perhaps some cracked ribs.
But she'd won again. Barely. What would happen when she failed? When
she didn't watch carefully enough, or fight skillfully enough?
Elend would die.
Vin sighed, and looked up. He was still there, watching her from atop a
roof. Despite a half-dozen chases spread across several months, she'd never
managed to catch him. Someday she would corner him in the night.
But not today. She didn't have the energy. In fact, a part of her worried
that he'd strike her down. But. . .she thought. He saved me. I would have
died if I'd gotten too close to that hidden Mistborn. An instant of him
burning atium with me unaware, and I'd have found his daggers in my
chest.
The Watcher stood for a few more moments—wreathed, as always, in the
curling mists. Then he turned, jumping away into the night. Vin let him go;
she had to deal with OreSeur.
She stumbled over to him, then paused. His nondescript body—in a
servant's trousers and shirt—had been pelted with coins, and blood seeped
from the several wounds.
He looked up at her. "What?" he asked.
"I didn't expect there to be blood."
OreSeur snorted. "You probably didn't expect me to feel pain either."
Vin opened her mouth, then paused. Actually, she hadn't ever thought
about it. Then she hardened herself. What right does this thing have to
chastise me?
Still, OreSeur had proven useful. "Thank you for throwing me the vial,"
she said.
"It was my duty, Mistress," OreSeur said, grunting as he pulled his
broken body up against the side of the alleyway. "I was charged with your
protection by Master Kelsier. As always, I serve the Contract."
Ah, yes. The almighty Contract. "Can you walk?"
"Only with effort, Mistress. The coins shattered several of these bones. I
will need a new body. One of the assassins, perhaps1?"
Vin frowned. She glanced back toward the dead men, and her stomach
twisted slightly at the gruesome sight of their fallen bodies. She'd killed
them, eight men, with the cruel efficiency that Kelsier had trained in her.
This is what I am, she thought. A killer, like those men. That was how it
had to be. Someone had to protect Elend.
However, the thought of OreSeur eating one of them—digesting the
corpse, letting his strange kandra senses memorize the positioning of
muscles, skin, and organs, so that he could reproduce them—sickened her.
She glanced to the side, and saw the veiled scorn in OreSeur's eyes. They
both knew what she thought of him eating human bodies. They both knew
what he thought of her prejudice.
"No," Vin said. "We won't use one of these men."
"You'll have to find me another body, then," OreSeur said. "The Contract
states that I cannot be forced to kill men."
Vin's stomach twisted again. I'll think of something, she thought. His
current body was that of a murderer, taken after an execution. Vin was still
worried that someone in the city would recognize the face.
"Can you get back to the palace?" Vin asked.
"With time," OreSeur said.
Vin nodded, dismissing him, then turned back toward the bodies.
Somehow she suspected that this night would mark a distinct turning point
in the fate of the Central Dominance.
Straff's assassins had done more damage than they would ever know.
That bead of atium had been her last. The next time a Mistborn attacked
her, she would be exposed.
And would likely die as easily as the Mistborn she'd slain this night.
My brethren ignore the other facts. They cannot connect the other
strange things that are happening. They are deaf to my objections and blind
to my discoveries.
3
ELEND DROPPED HIS PEN TO his desk with a sigh, then leaned back
in his chair and rubbed his forehead.
Elend figured that he knew as much about political theory as any living
man. He'd certainly read more about economics, studied more about
governments, and held more political debates than anyone he knew. He
understood all the theories about how to make a nation stable and fair, and
had tried to implement those in his new kingdom.
He just hadn't realized how incredibly frustrating a parliamentary council
would be.
He stood up and walked over to get himself some chilled wine. He
paused, however, as he glanced out his balcony doors. In the distance, a
glowing haze shone through the mists. The campfires of his father's army.
He put down the wine. He was already exhausted, and the alcohol
probably wouldn't help. I can't afford to fall asleep until I get this done! he
thought, forcing himself to return to his seat. The Assembly would meet
soon, and he needed to have the proposal finished tonight.
Elend picked up the sheet, scanning its contents. His handwriting looked
cramped even to him, and the page was scattered with crossed-out lines and
notations—reflections of his frustration. They'd known about the army's
approach for weeks now, and the Assembly still quibbled about what1 to
do.
Some of its members wanted to offer a peace treaty; others thought they
should simply surrender the city. Still others felt they should attack without
delay. Elend feared that the surrender faction was gaining strength; hence
his proposal. The motion, if passed, would buy him more time. As king, he
already had prime right of parlay with a foreign dictator. The proposal
would forbid the Assembly from doing anything rash until he'd at least met
with his father.
Elend sighed again, dropping the sheet. The Assembly was only twentyfour men, but getting them to agree on anything was almost more
challenging than any of the problems they argued about. Elend turned,
looking past the solitary lamp on his desk, out through the open balcony
doors and toward the fires. Overhead, he heard feet scuttling on the rooftop
—Vin, going about her nightly rounds.
Elend smiled fondly, but not even thinking of Vin could restore his good
temper. That group of assassins she fought tonight. Can I use that
somehow? Perhaps if he made the attack public, the Assembly would be
reminded of the disdain Straff had for human life, and then be less likely to
surrender the city to him. But. . .perhaps they'd also get frightened that he'd
send assassins after them, and be more likely to surrender.
Sometimes Elend wondered if the Lord Ruler had been right. Not in
oppressing the people, of course—but in retaining all of the power for
himself. The Final Empire had been nothing if not stable. It had lasted a
thousand years, weathering rebellions, maintaining a strong hold on the
world.
The Lord Ruler was immortal, though, Elend thought. That's an
advantage I'll certainly never have.
The Assembly was a better way. By giving the people a parliament with
real legal authority, Elend would craft a stable government. The people
would have a king—a man to provide continuity, a symbol of unity. A man
who wouldn't be tainted by the need to get reappointed. However, they
would also have an Assembly—a council made up of their peers that could
voice their concerns.
It all sounded wonderful in theory. Assuming they survived the next few
months.
Elend rubbed his eyes, then dipped his pen and began to scratch new
sentences at the bottom of the document.
The Lord Ruler was dead.
Even a year later, Vin sometimes found that concept difficult to grasp.
The Lord Ruler had been. . .everything. King and god, lawmaker and
ultimate authority. He had been eternal and absolute, and now he was dead.
Vin had killed him.
Of course, the truth wasn't as impressive as the stories. It hadn't been
heroic strength or mystical power that had let Vin defeat the emperor. She'd
just figured out the trick that he'd been using to make himself immortal, and
she'd fortunately—almost accidentally—exploited his weakness. She wasn't
brave or clever. Just lucky.
Vin sighed. Her bruises still throbbed, but she had suffered far worse. She
sat atop the palace—once Keep Venture—just above Elend's balcony. Her
reputation might have been unearned, but it had helped keep Elend alive.
Though dozens of warlords squabbled in the land that had once been the
Final Empire, none of them had marched on Luthadel.
Until now.
Fires burned outside the city. Straff would soon know that his assassins
had failed. What then? Assault the city? Ham and Clubs warned that
Luthadel couldn'1t hold against a determined attack. Straff had to know
that.
Still, for the moment, Elend was safe. Vin had gotten pretty good at
finding and killing assassins; barely a month passed that she didn't catch
someone trying to sneak into the palace. Many were just spies, and very few
were Allomancers. However, a normal man's steel knife would kill Elend
just as easily as an Allomancer's glass one.
She wouldn't let that occur. Whatever else happened—whatever
sacrifices it required—Elend had to stay alive.
Suddenly apprehensive, she slipped over to the skylight to check on him.
Elend sat safely at his desk below, scribbling away on some new proposal
or edict. Kingship had changed the man remarkably little. About four years
her senior—placing him in his early twenties—Elend was a man who put
great stock in learning, but little in appearance. He only bothered to comb
his hair when he attended an important function, and he somehow managed
to wear even well-tailored outfits with an air of dishevelment.
He was probably the best man she had ever known. Earnest, determined,
clever, and caring. And, for some reason, he loved her. At times, that fact
was even more amazing to her than her part in the Lord Ruler's death.
Vin looked up, glancing back at the army lights. Then she looked to the
sides. The Watcher had not returned. Often on nights like this he would
tempt her, coming dangerously close to Elend's room before disappearing
into the city.
Of course, if he'd wanted to kill Elend, he could just have done it while I
was fighting the others. . ..
It was a disquieting thought. Vin couldn't watch Elend every moment. He
was exposed a frightening amount of the time.
True, Elend had other bodyguards, and some were even Allomancers.
They, however, were stretched as thin as she was. This night's assassins had
been the most skilled, and most dangerous, that she had ever faced. She
shivered, thinking about the Mistborn who had hid among them. He hadn't
been very good, but he wouldn't have needed much skill to burn atium, then
strike Vin directly in the right place.
The shifting mists continued to spin. The army's presence whispered a
disturbing truth: The surrounding warlords were beginning to consolidate
their domains, and were thinking about expansion. Even if Luthadel stood
against Straff somehow, others would come.
Quietly, Vin closed her eyes and burned bronze, still worried that the
Watcher—or some other Allomancer—might be nearby, planning to attack
Elend in the supposedly safe aftermath of the assassination attempt. Most
Mistborn considered bronze to be a relatively useless metal, as it was easily
negated. With copper, a Mistborn could mask their Allomancy—not to
mention protect themselves from emotional manipulation by zinc or brass.
Most Mistborn considered it foolish not to have their copper on at all times.
And yet. . .Vin had the ability to pierce copperclouds.
A coppercloud wasn't a visible thing. It was far more vague. A pocket of
deadened air where Allomancers could burn their metals and not worry that
bronze burners would be able to sense them. But Vin could sense
Allomancers who used metals inside of a coppercloud. She still wasn't
certain why. Even Kelsier, the most powerful Allomancer she had known,
hadn't been able to pierce a coppercloud.
Tonight, however, she sensed nothing.
With a sigh, she opened her eyes. Her strange power was confusing, but
i1t wasn't unique to her. Marsh had confirmed that Steel Inquisitors could
pierce copperclouds, and she was certain that the Lord Ruler had been able
to do so. But. . .why her? Why could Vin—a girl who barely had two years'
training as a Mistborn—do it?
There was more. She still remembered vividly the morning when she'd
fought the Lord Ruler. There was something about that event that she hadn't
told anyone—partially because it made her fear, just a bit, that the rumors
and legends about her were true. Somehow, she'd drawn upon the mists,
using them to fuel her Allomancy instead of metals.
It was only with that power, the power of the mists, that she had been
able to beat the Lord Ruler in the end. She liked to tell herself that she had
simply been lucky in figuring out the Lord Ruler's tricks. But. . .there had
been something strange that night, something that she'd done. Something
that she shouldn't have been able to do, and had never been able to repeat.
Vin shook her head. There was so much they didn't know, and not just
about Allomancy. She and the other leaders of Elend's fledgling kingdom
tried their best, but without Kelsier to guide them, Vin felt blind. Plans,
successes, and even goals were like shadowy figures in the mist, formless
and indistinct.
You shouldn't have left us, Kell, she thought. You saved the world—but
you should have been able to do it without dying. Kelsier, the Survivor of
Hathsin, the man who had conceived and implemented the collapse of the
Final Empire. Vin had known him, worked with him, been trained by him.
He was a legend and a hero. Yet, he had also been a man. Fallible.
Imperfect. It was easy for the skaa to revere him, then blame Elend and the
others for the dire situation that Kelsier had created.
The thought left her feeling bitter. Thinking about Kelsier often did that.
Perhaps it was the sense of abandonment, or perhaps it was just the
uncomfortable knowledge that Kelsier—like Vin herself—didn't fully live
up to his reputation.
Vin sighed, closing her eyes, still burning bronze. The evening's fight had
taken a lot out of her, and she was beginning to dread the hours she still
intended to spend watching. It would be difficult to remain alert when—
She sensed something.
Vin snapped her eyes open, flaring her tin. She spun and stooped against
the rooftop to obscure her profile. There was someone out there, burning
metal. Bronze pulses thumped weakly, faint, almost unnoticeable—like
someone playing drums very quietly. They were muffled by a coppercloud.
The person—whoever it was—thought that their copper would hide them.
So far, Vin hadn't left anyone alive, save Elend and Marsh, who knew of
her strange power.
Vin crept forward, fingers and toes chilled by the roof's copper sheeting.
She tried to determine the direction of the pulses. Something was. . .odd
about them. She had trouble distinguishing the metals her enemy was
burning. Was that the quick, beating thump of pewter? Or was it the rhythm
of iron? The pulses seemed indistinct, like ripples in a thick mud.
They were coming from somewhere very close. . .. On the rooftop. . .
Just in front of her.
Vin froze, crouching, the night breezes blowing a wall of mist across her.
Where was he? Her senses argued with each other; her bronze said there
was something right in front of her, but her eyes refused to agree.
She studied the dark mists, glan1ced upward just to be certain, then
stood. This is the first time my bronze has been wrong, she thought with a
frown.
Then she saw it.
Not something in the mists, but something of the mists. The figure stood
a few feet away, easy to miss, for its shape was only faintly outlined by the
mist. Vin gasped, stepping backward.
The figure continued to stand where it was. She couldn't tell much about
it; its features were cloudy and vague, outlined by the chaotic churnings of
windblown mist. If not for the form's persistence, she could have dismissed
it—like the shape of an animal seen briefly in the clouds.
But it stayed. Each new curl of the mist added definition to thin its body
and long head. Haphazard, yet persistent. It suggested a human, but it
lacked the Watcher's solidity. It felt. . .looked. . .wrong.
The figure took a step forward.
Vin reacted instantly, throwing up a handful of coins and Pushing them
through the air. The bits of metal zipped through the mist, trailing streaks,
and passed right through the shadowy figure.
It stood for a moment. Then, it simply puffed away, dissipating into the
mists' random curls.
Elend wrote the final line with a flair, though he knew he'd simply have a
scribe rewrite the proposal. Still, he was proud. He thought that he'd been
able to work out an argument that would finally convince the Assembly that
they could not simply surrender to Straff.
He glanced unconsciously toward a stack of papers on his desk. On their
top sat an innocent-seeming yellow letter, still folded, bloodlike smudge of
wax broken at the seal. The letter had been short. Elend remembered its
words easily.
Son,
I trust you've enjoyed seeing after Venture interests in
Luthadel. I have secured the Northern Dominance, and will
shortly be returning to our keep in Luthadel. You may turn
over control of the city to me at that time.
King Straff Venture
Of all the warlords and despots that had afflicted the Final Empire since
the Lord Ruler's death, Straff was the most dangerous. Elend knew this
firsthand. His father was a true imperial nobleman: He saw life as a
competition between lords to see who could earn the greatest reputation. He
had played the game well, making House Venture the most powerful of the
pre-Collapse noble families.
Elend's father would not see the Lord Ruler's death as a tragedy or a
victory—just as an opportunity. The fact that Straff's supposedly weakwilled fool of a son now claimed to be king of the Central Dominance
probably gave him no end of mirth.
Elend shook his head, turning back to the proposal. A few more rereads, a
few tweaks, and I'll finally be able to get some sleep. I just—
A cloaked form dropped from the skylight in the roof and landed with a
quiet thump behind him.
Elend raised an eyebrow, turning toward the crouching figure. "You
know, I leave the balcony open for a reason, Vin. You could come in that
way, if you wanted."
"I know," Vin said. Then she darted across the room, moving with an
Alloman1cer's unnatural litheness. She checked beneath his bed, then
moved over to his closet and threw open the doors. She jumped back with
the tension of an alert animal, but apparently found nothing inside that met
with her disapproval, for she moved over to peek through the door leading
into the rest of Elend's chambers.
Elend watched her with fondness. It had taken him some time to get used
to Vin's particular. . .idiosyncrasies. He teased her about being paranoid; she
just claimed she was careful. Regardless, half the time she visited his
chambers she checked underneath his bed and in his closet. The other times,
she held herself back—but Elend often caught her glancing distrustfully
toward potential hiding places.
She was far less jumpy when she didn't have a particular reason to worry
about him. However, Elend was only just beginning to understand that there
was a very complex person hiding behind the face he had once known as
Valette Renoux's. He had fallen in love with her courtly side without ever
knowing the nervous, furtive Mistborn side. It was still a little difficult to
see them as the same person.
Vin closed the door, then paused briefly, watching him with her round,
dark eyes. Elend found himself smiling. Despite her oddities—or, more
likely because of them—he loved this thin woman with the determined eyes
and blunt temperament. She was like no one he had ever known—a woman
of simple, yet honest, beauty and wit.
She did, however, sometimes worry him.
"Vin?" he asked, standing.
"Have you seen anything strange tonight?"
Elend paused. "Besides you?"
She frowned, striding across the room. Elend watched her small form,
clothed in black trousers and a man's buttoning shirt, mistcloak tassels
trailing behind her. She wore the cloak's hood down, as usual, and she
stepped with a supple grace—the unconscious elegance of a person burning
pewter.
Focus! he told himself. You really are getting tired. "Vin? What's
wrong?"
Vin glanced toward the balcony. "That Mistborn, the Watcher, is in the
city again."
"You're sure?"
Vin nodded. "But. . .I don't think he's going to come for you tonight."
Elend frowned. The balcony doors were still open, and trails of mist
puffed through them, creeping along the floor until they finally evaporated.
Beyond those doors was. . .darkness. Chaos.
It's just mist, he told himself. Water vapor. Nothing to fear. "What makes
you think the Mistborn won't come for me?"
Vin shrugged. "I just feel he won't."
She often answered that way. Vin had grown up a creature of the streets,
and she trusted her instincts. Oddly, so did Elend. He eyed her, reading the
uncertainty in her posture. Something else had unsettled her this night. He
looked into her eyes, holding them for a moment, until she glanced away.
"What?" he asked.
"I saw. . .something else," she said. "Or, I thought I did. Something in the
mist, like a person formed from smoke. I could feel it, too, with Allomancy.
It disappeared, though."
Elend frowned more deeply. He walked forward, putting his arms around
her. "Vin, you're pushing yourself too hard. You can't keep prowling the city
at night and then staying up all day. 1Even Allomancers need rest."
She nodded quietly. In his arms, she didn't seem to him like the powerful
warrior who had slain the Lord Ruler. She felt like a woman past the edge
of fatigue, a woman overwhelmed by events—a woman who probably felt a
lot like Elend did.
She let him hold her. At first, there was a slight stiffness to her posture. It
was as if a piece of her still expected to be hurt—a primal sliver that
couldn't understand that it was possible to be touched out of love rather than
anger. Then, however, she relaxed. Elend was one of the few she could do
that around. When she held him—really held him—she clung with a
desperation that bordered on terror. Somehow, despite her powerful skill as
an Allomancer and her stubborn determination, Vin was frighteningly
vulnerable. She seemed to need Elend. For that, he felt lucky.
Frustrated, at times. But lucky. Vin and he hadn't discussed his marriage
proposal and her refusal, though Elend often thought of the encounter.
Women are difficult enough to understand, he thought, and I had to go
and pick the oddest one of the lot. Still, he couldn't really complain. She
loved him. He could deal with her idiosyncrasies.
Vin sighed, then looked up at him, finally relaxing as he leaned down to
kiss her. He held it for a long moment, and she sighed. After the kiss, she
rested her head on his shoulder. "We do have another problem," she said
quietly. "I used the last of the atium tonight."
"Fighting the assassins?"
Vin nodded.
"Well, we knew it would happen eventually. Our stockpile couldn't last
forever."
"Stockpile?" Vin asked. "Kelsier only left us six beads."
Elend sighed, then pulled her tight. His new government was supposed to
have inherited the Lord Ruler's atium reserves—a supposed cache of the
metal comprising an amazing treasure. Kelsier had counted on his new
kingdom holding those riches; he had died expecting it. There was only one
problem. Nobody had ever found the reserve. They had found some small
bit—the atium that had made up the bracers that the Lord Ruler had used as
a Feruchemical battery to store up age. However, they had spent those on
supplies for the city, and they had actually contained only a very small bit
of atium. Nothing like the cache was said to have. There should still be,
somewhere in the city, a wealth of atium thousands of times larger than
those bracers.
"We'll just have to deal with it," Elend said.
"If a Mistborn attacks you, I won't be able to kill him."
"Only if he has atium," Elend said. "It's becoming more and more rare. I
doubt the other kings have much of it."
Kelsier had destroyed the Pits of Hathsin, the only place where atium
could be mined. Still, if Vin did have to fight someone with atium. . .
Don't think about that, he told himself. Just keep searching. Perhaps we
can buy some. Or maybe we'll find the Lord Ruler's cache. If it even exists. .
..
Vin looked up at him, reading the concern in his eyes, and he knew she
had arrived at the same conclusions as he. There was little that could be
accomplished at the moment; Vin had done well to conserve their atium as
long as she had. Still, as Vin stepped back and let Elend return to his table,
he couldn't help thinking about how they could have spent that atium. His
people would need food for the winter.1
But, by selling the metal, he thought, sitting, we would have put more of
the world's most dangerous Allomantic weapon into the hands of our
enemies. Better that Vin used it up.
As he began to work again, Vin poked her head over his shoulder,
obscuring his lamplight. "What is it?" she asked.
"The proposal blocking the Assembly until I've had my right of parlay."
"Again?" she asked, cocking her head and squinting as she tried to make
out his handwriting.
"The Assembly rejected the last version."
Vin frowned. "Why don't you just tell them that they have to accept it?
You're the king."
"Now, see," Elend said, "that's what I'm trying to prove by all this. I'm
just one man, Vin—maybe my opinion isn't better than theirs. If we all work
on the proposal together, it will come out better than if one man had done it
himself."
Vin shook her head. "It will be too weak. No teeth. You should trust
yourself more."
"It's not about trust. It's about what's right. We spent a thousand years
fighting off the Lord Ruler—if I do things the same way he did, then what
will be the difference?"
Vin turned and looked him in the eyes. "The Lord Ruler was an evil man.
You're a good one. That's the difference."
Elend smiled. "It's that easy for you, isn't it?"
Vin nodded.
Elend leaned up and kissed her again. "Well, some of us have to make
things a little more complicated, so you'll have to humor us. Now, kindly
remove yourself from my light so I can get back to work."
She snorted, but stood up and rounded the desk, leaving behind a faint
scent of perfume. Elend frowned. When'd she put that on? Many of her
motions were so quick that he missed them.
Perfume—just another of the apparent contradictions that made up the
woman who called herself Vin. She wouldn't have been wearing it out in the
mists; she usually put it on just for him. Vin liked to be unobtrusive, but she
loved wearing scents—and got annoyed at him if he didn't notice when she
was trying out a new one. She seemed suspicious and paranoid, yet she
trusted her friends with a dogmatic loyalty. She went out at night in black
and gray, trying so hard to hide—but Elend had seen her at the balls a year
ago, and she had looked natural in gowns and dresses.
For some reason she had stopped wearing those. She hadn't ever
explained why.
Elend shook his head, turning back to his proposal. Next to Vin, politics
seemed simplistic. She rested her arms on the desktop, watching him work,
yawning.
"You should get some rest," he said, dipping his pen again.
Vin paused, then nodded. She removed her mistcloak, wrapped it around
herself, then curled up on the rug beside his desk.
Elend paused. "I didn't mean here, Vin," he said with amusement.
"There's still a Mistborn out there somewhere," she said with a tired,
muffled voice. "I'm not leaving you." She twisted in the cloak, and Elend
caught a brief grimace of pain on her face. She was favoring her left side.
She didn't often tell him the details of her fights. She didn't want to worry
him. It 1didn't help.
Elend pushed down his concern and forced himself to start reading again.
He was almost finished—just a bit more and—
A knock came at his door.
Elend turned with frustration, wondering at this new interruption. Ham
poked his head in the doorway a second later.
"Ham?" Elend said. "You're still awake?"
"Unfortunately," Ham said, stepping into the room.
"Mardra is going to kill you for working late again," Elend said, setting
down his pen. Complain though he might about some of Vin's quirks, at
least she shared Elend's nocturnal habits.
Ham just rolled his eyes at the comment. He still wore his standard vest
and trousers. He'd agreed to be the captain of Elend's guard on a single
condition: that he would never have to wear a uniform. Vin cracked an eye
as Ham wandered into the room, then relaxed again.
"Regardless," Elend said. "To what do I owe the visit?"
"I thought you might want to know that we identified those assassins who
tried to kill Vin."
Elend nodded. "Probably men I know." Most Allomancers were
noblemen, and he was familiar with all of those in Straff's retinue.
"Actually, I doubt it," Ham said. "They were Westerners."
Elend paused, frowning, and Vin perked up. "You're sure?"
Ham nodded. "Makes it a bit unlikely that your father sent them—unless
he's done some heavy recruiting in Fadrex City. They were of Houses
Gardre and Conrad, mostly."
Elend sat back. His father was based in Urteau, hereditary home of the
Venture family. Fadrex was halfway across the empire from Urteau, several
months' worth of travel. The chances were slim that his father would have
access to a group of Western Allomancers.
"Have you heard of Ashweather Cett?" Ham asked.
Elend nodded. "One of the men who's set himself up as king in the
Western Dominance. I don't know much about him."
Vin frowned, sitting. "You think he sent these?"
Ham nodded. "They must have been waiting for a chance to slip into the
city, and the traffic at the gates these last few days would have provided the
opportunity. That makes the arrival of Straff's army and the attack on Vin's
life something of a coincidence."
Elend glanced at Vin. She met his eyes, and he could tell that she wasn't
completely convinced that Straff hadn't sent the assassins. Elend, however,
wasn't so skeptical. Pretty much every tyrant in the area had tried to take
him out at one point or another. Why not Cett?
It's that atium, Elend thought with frustration. He'd never found the Lord
Ruler's cache—but that didn't stop the despots in the empire from assuming
he was hiding it somewhere.
"Well, at least your father didn't send the assassins," Ham said, ever the
optimist.
Elend shook his head. "Our relationship wouldn't stop him, Ham. Trust
me."
"He's your father," Ham said, looking troubled.
"Things like that don't matter to Straff. He probably hasn't sent assassins
because he doesn't think I'm worth the trouble. If we last long enough,
though, he will."
Ham shook his head. "I've heard of sons killing their fathers to take their
place. . .but fathers killing their sons. . .I wonder what that says about old
Straff's mind, that he'd be willing to kill you. You think that—"
"Ham?" Elend interrupted.
"Hum?"
"You know I'm usually good for a discussion, but I don't really have time
for philosophy right now."
"Oh, right." Ham smiled wanly, standing and moving to go. "I should get
back to Mardra anyway."
Elend nodded, rubbing his forehead and picking up his pen yet again.
"Make sure you gather the crew for a meeting. We need to organize our
allies, Ham. If we don't come up with something incredibly clever, this
kingdom may be doomed."
Ham turned back, still smiling. "You make it sound so desperate, El."
Elend looked over at him. "The Assembly is a mess, a half-dozen
warlords with superior armies are breathing down my neck, barely a month
passes without someone sending assassins to kill me, and the woman I love
is slowly driving me insane."
Vin snorted at this last part.
"Oh, is that all?" Ham said. "See? It's not so bad after all. I mean, we
could be facing an immortal god and his all-powerful priests instead."
Elend paused, then chuckled despite himself. "Good night, Ham," he
said, turning back to his proposal.
"Good night, Your Majesty."
Perhaps they are right. Perhaps I am mad, or jealous, or simply daft. My
name is Kwaan. Philosopher, scholar, traitor. I am the one who discovered
Alendi, and I am the one who first proclaimed him to be the Hero of Ages. I
am the one who started this all.
4
THE BODY SHOWED NO OVERT wounds. It still lay where it had
fallen—the other villagers had been afraid to move it. Its arms and legs
were twisted in awkward positions, the dirt around it scuffed from predeath
thrashings.
Sazed reached out, running his fingers along one of the marks. Though
the soil here in the Eastern Dominance held far more clay than soil did in
the north, it was still more black than it was brown. Ashfalls came even this
far south. Ashless soil, washed clean and fertilized, was a luxury used only
for the ornamental plants of noble gardens. The rest of the world had to do
what it could with untreated soil.
"You say that he was alone when he died?" Sazed asked, turning to the
small cluster of villagers standing behind him.
A leather-skinned man nodded. "Like I said, Master Terrisman. He was
just standing there, no one else about. He paused, then he fell and wiggled
on the ground for a bit. After that, he just. . .stopped moving."
Sazed turned back to the corpse, studying the twisted muscles, the face
locked in a mask of pain. Sazed had brought his medical coppermind—the
metal armband wrapped around his upper right arm—and he reached into it
with his mind, pulling out some of the memorized books he had stored
therein. Yes, there were some diseases that killed with shakes and spasms.
They rarely took a man so suddenly, but it sometimes happened. If it hadn't
been for other circumstances, Sazed would have paid the death little heed.
"Please, repeat to me again what you1 saw," Sazed asked.
The leather-skinned man at the front of the group, Teur, paled slightly. He
was in an odd position—his natural desire for notoriety would make him
want to gossip about his experience. However, doing so could earn the
distrust of his superstitious fellows.
"I was just passing by, Master Terrisman," Teur said. "On the path twenty
yards yon. I seen old Jed working his field—a hard worker, he was. Some
of us took a break when the lords left, but old Jed just kept on. Guess he
knew we'd be needing food for the winter, lords or no lords."
Teur paused, then glanced to the side. "I know what people say, Master
Terrisman, but I seen what I seen. It was day when I passed, but there was
mist in the valley here. It stopped me, because I've never been out in the
mist—my wife'll vouch me that. I was going to turn back, and then I seen
old Jed. He was just working away, as if he hadn't seen the mist.
"I was going to call out to him, but before I could, he just. . .well, like I
told you. I seen him standing there, then he froze. The mist swirled about
him a bit, then he began to jerk and twist, like something really strong was
holding him and shaking him. He fell. Didn't get up after that."
Still kneeling, Sazed looked back at the corpse. Teur apparently had a
reputation for tall tales. Yet, the body was a chilling corroboration—not to
mention Sazed's own experience several weeks before.
Mist during the day.
Sazed stood, turning toward the villagers. "Please fetch for me a shovel."
Nobody helped him dig the grave. It was slow, muggy work in the
southern heat, which was strong despite the advent of autumn. The clay
earth was difficult to move—but, fortunately, Sazed had a bit of extra
stored-up strength inside a pewtermind, and he tapped it for help.
He needed it, for he wasn't what one would call an athletic man. Tall and
long-limbed, he had the build of a scholar, and still wore the colorful robes
of a Terris steward. He also still kept his head shaved, after the manner of
the station he had served in for the first forty-some years of his life. He
didn't wear much of his jewelry now—he didn't want to tempt highway
bandits—but his earlobes were stretched out and pierced with numerous
holes for earrings.
Tapping strength from his pewtermind enlarged his muscles slightly,
giving him the build of a stronger man. Even with the extra strength,
however, his steward's robes were stained with sweat and dirt by the time he
finished digging. He rolled the body into the grave, and stood quietly for a
moment. The man had been a dedicated farmer.
Sazed searched through his religions coppermind for an appropriate
theology. He started with an index—one of the many that he had created.
When he had located an appropriate religion, he pulled free detailed
memories about its practices. The writings entered his mind as fresh as
when he had just finished memorizing them. They would fade, with time,
like all memories—however, he intended to place them back in the
coppermind long before that happened. It was the way of the Keeper, the
method by which his people retained enormous wealths of information.
This day, the memories he selected were of HaDah, a southern religion
with an agricultural deity. Like most religions—which had been oppressed
during the time of the Lord Ruler—the HaDah faith was a thousand years
extinct.
Following the dictates of the HaDah funeral ceremony, Sazed walked
over to a nearby tree1—or, at least, one of the shrublike plants that passed
for trees in this area. He broke off a long branch—the peasants watching
him curiously—and carried it back to the grave. He stooped down and
drove it into the dirt at the bottom of the hole, just beside the corpse's head.
Then he stood and began to shovel dirt back into the grave.
The peasants watched him with dull eyes. So depressed, Sazed thought.
The Eastern Dominance was the most chaotic and unsettled of the five
Inner Dominances. The only men in this crowd were well past their prime.
The press gangs had done their work efficiently; the husbands and fathers of
this village were likely dead on some battlefield that no longer mattered.
It was hard to believe that anything could actually be worse than the Lord
Ruler's oppression. Sazed told himself that these people's pain would pass,
that they would someday know prosperity because of what he and the
others had done. Yet, he had seen farmers forced to slaughter each other,
had seen children starve because some despot had "requisitioned" a village's
entire food supply. He had seen thieves kill freely because the Lord Ruler's
troops no longer patrolled the canals. He had seen chaos, death, hatred, and
disorder. And he couldn't help but acknowledge that he was partially to
blame.
He continued to refill the hole. He had been trained as a scholar and a
domestic attendant; he was a Terrisman steward, the most useful, most
expensive, and most prestigious of servants in the Final Empire. That meant
almost nothing now. He'd never dug a grave, but he did his best, trying to be
reverent as he piled dirt on the corpse. Surprisingly, about halfway through
the process, the peasants began to help him, pushing dirt from the pile into
the hole.
Perhaps there is hope for these yet, Sazed thought, thankfully letting one
of the others take his shovel and finish the work. When they were done, the
very tip of the HaDah branch breached the dirt at the head of the grave.
"Why'd you do that?" Teur asked, nodding to the branch.
Sazed smiled. "It is a religious ceremony, Goodman Teur. If you please,
there is a prayer that should accompany it."
"A prayer? Something from the Steel Ministry?"
Sazed shook his head. "No, my friend. It is a prayer from a previous time,
a time before the Lord Ruler."
The peasants eyed each other, frowning. Teur just rubbed his wrinkled
chin. They all remained quiet, however, as Sazed said a short HaDah prayer.
When he finished, he turned toward the peasants. "It was known as the
religion of HaDah. Some of your ancestors might have followed it, I think.
If any of you wish, I can teach you of its precepts."
The assembled crowd stood quietly. There weren't many of them—two
dozen or so, mostly middle-aged women and a few older men. There was a
single young man with a club leg; Sazed was surprised that he'd lived so
long on a plantation. Most lords killed invalids to keep them from draining
resources.
"When is the Lord Ruler coming back?" asked a woman.
"I do not believe that he will," Sazed said.
"Why did he abandon us?"
"It is a time of change," Sazed said. "Perhaps it is also time to learn of
other truths, other ways."
The group of people shuffled quietly. Sazed sighed quietly; these people
associated faith with the Steel Ministry and its obligators. Religion wasn't
something that skaa worried about—sav1e, perhaps, to avoid it when
possible.
The Keepers spent a thousand years gathering and memorizing the dying
religions of the world, Sazed thought. Who would have thought that now—
with the Lord Ruler gone—people wouldn't care enough to want what they'd
lost?
Yet, he found it hard to think ill of these people. They were struggling to
survive, their already harsh world suddenly made unpredictable. They were
tired. Was it any wonder that talk of beliefs long forgotten failed to interest
them?
"Come," Sazed said, turning toward the village. "There are other things—
more practical things—that I can teach you."
And I am the one who betrayed Alendi, for I now know that he must never
be allowed to complete his quest.
5
VIN COULD SEE SIGNS OF anxiety reflected in the city. Workers
milled anxiously and markets bustled with an edge of concern—showing
that same apprehension that one might see in a cornered rodent. Frightened,
but not sure what to do. Doomed with nowhere to run.
Many had left the city during the last year—noblemen fleeing, merchants
seeking some other place of business. Yet, at the same time, the city had
swelled with an influx of skaa. They had somehow heard of Elend's
proclamation of freedom, and had come with optimism—or, at least, as
much optimism as an overworked, underfed, repeatedly beaten populace
could manage.
And so, despite predictions that Luthadel would soon fall, despite
whispers that its army was small and weak, the people had stayed. Worked.
Lived. Just as they always had. The life of a skaa had never been very
certain.
It was still strange for Vin to see the market so busy. She walked down
Kenton Street, wearing her customary trousers and buttoned shirt, thinking
about the time when she'd visited the street during the days before the
Collapse. It had been the quiet home of some exclusive tailoring shops.
When Elend had abolished the restrictions on skaa merchants, Kenton
Street had changed. The thoroughfare had blossomed into a wild bazaar of
shops, pushcarts, and tents. In order to target the newly empowered—and
newly waged—skaa workers, the shop owners had altered their selling
methods. Where once they had coaxed with rich window displays, they now
called and demanded, using criers, salesmen, and even jugglers to try to
attract trade.
The street was so busy that Vin usually avoided it, and this day was even
worse than most. The arrival of the army had sparked a last-minute flurry of
buying and selling, the people trying to get ready for whatever was to come.
There was a grim tone to the atmosphere. Fewer street performers, more
yelling. Elend had ordered all eight city gates barred, so flight was no
longer an option. Vin wondered how many of the people regretted their
decision to stay.
She walked down the street with a businesslike step, hands clasped to
keep the nervousness out of her posture. Even as a child—an urchin on the
streets of a dozen different cities—she hadn't liked crowds. It was hard to
keep track of so many people, hard to focus with so much going on. As a
child, she'd stayed near the edges of crowds, hiding, venturing out to snatch
the occasional fallen coin or ignored bit of food.
She was different now. She forced herself to walk with a straight back,
and kept her eyes from glancing down or looking for places to hide. She
was getting so much better—but seeing th1e crowds reminded her of what
she had once been. What she would always—at least in part—still be.
As if in response to her thoughts, a pair of street urchins scampered
through the throng, a large man in a baker's apron screaming at them. There
were still urchins in Elend's new world. In fact, as she considered it, paying
the skaa population probably made for a far better street life for urchins.
There were more pockets to pick, more people to distract the shop owners,
more scraps to go around, and more hands to feed beggars.
It was difficult to reconcile her childhood with such a life. To her, a child
on the street was someone who learned to be quiet and hide, someone who
went out at night to search through garbage. Only the most brave of urchins
had dared cut purses; skaa lives had been worthless to many noblemen.
During her childhood, Vin had known several urchins who been killed or
maimed by passing noblemen who found them offensive.
Elend's laws might not have eliminated the poor, something he so much
wanted to do, but he had improved the lives of even the street urchins. For
that—among other things—she loved him.
There were still some noblemen in the crowd, men who had been
persuaded by Elend or circumstances that their fortunes would be safer in
the city than without. They were desperate, weak, or adventuresome. Vin
watched one man pass, surrounded by a group of guards. He didn't give her
a second glance; to him, her simple clothing was reason enough to ignore
her. No noblewoman would dress as she did.
Is that what I am? she wondered, pausing beside a shop window, looking
over the books inside—the sale of which had always been a small, but
profitable, market for the idle imperial nobility. She also used the glass
reflection to make certain no one snuck up behind her. Am I a noblewoman?
It could be argued that she was noble simply by association. The king
himself loved her—had asked her to marry him—and she had been trained
by the Survivor of Hathsin. Indeed, her father had been noble, even if her
mother had been skaa. Vin reached up, fingering the simple bronze earring
that was the only thing she had as a memento of Mother.
It wasn't much. But, then, Vin wasn't sure she wanted to think about her
mother all that much. The woman had, after all, tried to kill Vin. In fact, she
had killed Vin's full sister. Only the actions of Reen, Vin's half brother, had
saved her. He had pulled Vin, bloody, from the arms of a woman who had
shoved the earring into Vin's ear just moments before.
And still Vin kept it. As a reminder, of sorts. The truth was, she didn't
feel like a noblewoman. At times, she thought she had more in common
with her insane mother than she did with the aristocracy of Elend's world.
The balls and parties she had attended before the Collapse—they had been a
charade. A dreamlike memory. They had no place in this world of
collapsing governments and nightly assassinations. Plus, Vin's part in the
balls—pretending to be the girl Valette Renoux—had always been a sham.
She pretended still. Pretended not to be the girl who had grown up
starving on the streets, a girl who had been beaten far more often than she
had been befriended. Vin sighed, turning from the window. The next shop,
however, drew her attention despite herself.
It contained ball gowns.
The shop was empty of patrons; few thought of gowns on the eve of an
invasion. Vin paused before the open doorway, held almost as if she were
metal being Pulled. Inside, dressing dummies stood posed in majestic
gowns. Vin 1looked up at the garments, with their tight waists and tapering,
bell-like skirts. She could almost imagine she was at a ball, soft music in
the background, tables draped in perfect white, Elend standing up on his
balcony, leafing through a book. . ..
She almost went in. But why bother? The city was about to be attacked.
Besides, the garments were expensive. It had been different when she'd
spent Kelsier's money. Now she spent Elend's money—and Elend's money
was the kingdom's money.
She turned from the gowns and walked back out onto the street. Those
aren't me anymore. Valette is useless to Elend—he needs a Mistborn, not an
uncomfortable girl in a gown that she doesn't quite fill. Her wounds from
the night before, now firm bruises, were a reminder of her place. They were
healing well—she'd been burning pewter heavily all day—but she'd be stiff
for a while yet.
Vin quickened her pace, heading for the livestock pens. As she walked,
however, she caught sight of someone tailing her.
Well, perhaps "tailing" was too generous a word—the man certainly
wasn't doing a very good job of going unnoticed. He was balding on top,
but wore the sides of his hair long. He wore a simple skaa's smock: a singlepiece tan garment that was stained dark with ash.
Great, Vin thought. There was another reason she avoided the market—
or any place where crowds of skaa gathered.
She sped up again, but the man hurried as well. Soon, his awkward
movements gained attention—but, instead of cursing him, most people
paused reverently. Soon others joined him, and Vin had a small crowd
trailing her.
A part of her wanted to just slap down a coin and shoot away. Yes, Vin
thought to herself wryly, use Allomancy in the daylight. That'll make you
inconspicuous.
So, sighing, she turned to confront the group. None of them looked
particularly threatening. The men wore trousers and dull shirts; the women
wore one-piece, utilitarian dresses. Several more men wore single-piece,
ash-covered smocks.
Priests of the Survivor.
"Lady Heir," one of them said, approaching and falling to his knees.
"Don't call me that," Vin said quietly.
The priest looked up at her. "Please. We need direction. We have cast off
the Lord Ruler. What do we do now?"
Vin took a step backward. Had Kelsier understood what he was doing?
He had built up the skaa's faith in him, then had died a martyr to turn them
in rage against the Final Empire. What had he thought would happen after
that? Could he have foreseen the Church of the Survivor—had he known
that they would replace the Lord Ruler with Kelsier himself as God?
The problem was, Kelsier had left his followers with no doctrine. His
only goal had been to defeat the Lord Ruler; partially to get his revenge,
partially to seal his legacy, and partially—Vin hoped—because he had
wanted to free the skaa.
But now what? These people must feel as she did. Set adrift, with no
light to guide them.
Vin could not be that light. "I'm not Kelsier," she said quietly, taking
another step backward.
"We know," one of the men said. "You're his heir—he passed on, and this
time you Survived."
"Please," a woman said, stepping forward, holding a young child in her
arms. "Lady Heir. If th1e hand that struck down the Lord Ruler could touch
my child. . ."
Vin tried to back away farther, but realized she was up against another
crowd of people. The woman stepped closer, and Vin finally raised an
uncertain hand to the baby's forehead.
"Thank you," the woman said.
"You'll protect us, won't you, Lady Heir?" asked a young man—no older
than Elend—with a dirty face but honest eyes. "The priests say that you'll
stop that army out there, that its soldiers won't be able to enter the city
while you're here."
That was too much for her. Vin mumbled a halfhearted response, but
turned and pushed her way through the crowd. The group of believers didn't
follow her, fortunately.
She was breathing deeply, though not from exertion, by the time she
slowed. She moved into an alley between two shops, standing in the shade,
wrapping her arms around herself. She had spent her life learning to remain
unnoticed, to be quiet and unimportant. Now she could be none of those
things.
What did the people expect of her? Did they really think that she could
stop an army by herself? That was one lesson she'd learned very early into
her training: Mistborn weren't invincible. One man, she could kill. Ten men
could give her trouble. An army. . .
Vin held herself and took a few calming breaths. Eventually, she moved
back out onto the busy street. She was near her destination now—a small,
open-sided tent surrounded by four pens. The merchant lounged by it, a
scruffy man who had hair on only half of his head—the right half. Vin stood
for a moment, trying to decide if the odd hairstyle was due to disease,
injury, or preference.
The man perked up when he saw her standing at the edge of his pens. He
brushed himself off, throwing up a small amount of dust. Then he sauntered
up to her, smiling with what teeth he still had, acting as if he hadn't heard—
or didn't care—that there was an army just outside.
"Ah, young lady," he said. "Lookin' for a pup? I've got some wee scamps
that any girl is sure to love. Here, let me grab one. You'll agree it's the cutest
thing you ever seen."
Vin folded her arms as the man reached down to grab a puppy from one
of the pens. "Actually," she said, "I was looking for a wolfhound."
The merchant looked up. "Wolfhound, miss? 'Tis no pet for a girl like
yourself. Mean brutes, those. Let me find you a nice bobbie. Nice dogs,
those—smart, too."
"No," Vin said, drawing him up short. "You will bring me a wolfhound."
The man paused again, looking at her, scratching himself in several
undignified places. "Well, I guess I can see. . ."
He wandered toward the pen farthest from the street. Vin waited quietly,
nose downturned at the smell as the merchant yelled at a few of his animals,
selecting an appropriate one. Eventually, he pulled a leashed dog up to Vin.
It was a wolfhound, if a small one—but it had sweet, docile eyes, and an
obviously pleasant temperament.
"The runt of the litter," the merchant said. "A good animal for a young
girl, I'd say. Will probably make an excellent hunter, too. These
wolfhounds, they can smell better than any beast you seen."
Vin reached for her coin purse, but paused, looking down at the dog's
panting face. It almost seemed to be smiling at her.
"Oh, for the Lord Ruler's sake," she snapped, pushing past th1e dog and
master, stalking toward the back pens.
"Young lady?" the merchant asked, following uncertainly.
Vin scanned the wolfhounds. Near the back, she spotted a massive black
and gray beast. It was chained to a post, and it regarded her defiantly, a low
growl rising in its throat.
Vin pointed. "How much for that one in the back?"
"That?" the merchant asked. "Good lady, that's a watchbeast. It's meant to
be set loose on a lord's grounds to attack anyone who enters! It's the one of
the meanest things you'll ever see!"
"Perfect," Vin said, pulling out some coins.
"Good lady, I couldn't possibly sell you that beast. Not possibly at all.
Why, I'll bet it weighs half again as much as you do."
Vin nodded, then pulled open the pen gate and strode in. The merchant
cried out, but Vin walked right up to the wolfhound. He began to bark
wildly at her, frothing.
Sorry about this, Vin thought. Then, burning pewter, she ducked in and
slammed her fist into the animal's head.
The animal froze, wobbled, then fell unconscious in the dirt. The
merchant stopped up short beside her, mouth open.
"Leash," Vin ordered.
He gave her one. She used it to tie the wolfhound's feet together, and then
—with a flare of pewter—she threw the animal over her shoulders. She
cringed only slightly at the pain in her side.
This thing better not get drool on my shirt, she thought, handing the
merchant some coins and walking back toward the palace.
Vin slammed the unconscious wolfhound to the floor. The guards had
given her some strange looks as she entered the palace, but she was getting
used to those. She brushed off her hands.
"What is that?" OreSeur asked. He'd made it back to her rooms at the
palace, but his current body was obviously unusable. He'd needed to form
muscles in places that men didn't normally have them to even keep the
skeleton together, and while he'd healed his wounds, his body looked
unnatural. He still wore the bloodstained clothing from the night before.
"This," Vin said, pointing at the wolfhound, "is your new body."
OreSeur paused. "That? Mistress, that is a dog."
"Yes," Vin said.
"I am a man."
"You're a kandra," Vin said. "You can imitate flesh and muscle. What
about fur?"
The kandra did not look pleased. "I cannot imitate it," he said, "but I can
use the beast's own fur, like I use its bones. However, surely there is—"
"I'm not going to kill for you, kandra," Vin said. "And even if I did kill
someone, I wouldn't let you. . .eat them. Plus, this will be more
inconspicuous. People will begin to talk if I keep replacing my stewards
with unknown men. I've been telling people for months that I was thinking
of dismissing you. Well, I'll tell them that I finally did—nobody will think
to realize that my new pet hound is actually my kandra."
She turned, nodding toward the carcass. "This will be very useful. People
pay less attention to hounds than they do to humans, and so you'll be able to
listen in on conversations."
OreSeur's frown deepened. 1"I will not do this thing easily. You will need
to compel me, by virtue of the Contract."
"Fine," Vin said. "You're commanded. How long will it take?"
"A regular body only takes a few hours," OreSeur said. "This could take
longer. Getting that much fur to look right will be challenging."
"Get started, then," Vin said, turning toward the door. On her way,
however, she noticed a small package sitting on her desk. She frowned,
walking over and taking off the lid. A small note sat inside.
Lady Vin,
Here is the next alloy you requested. Aluminum is very
difficult to acquire, but when a noble family recently left the
city, I was able to buy some of their diningware.
I do not know if this one will work, but I believe it worth a
try. I have mixed the aluminum with four percent copper, and
found the outcome quite promising. I have read of this
composition; it is called duralumin.
Your servant, Terion
Vin smiled, setting aside the note and removing the rest of the box's
contents: a small pouch of metal dust and a thin silvery bar, both
presumably of this "duralumin" metal. Terion was a master Allomantic
metallurgist. Though not an Allomancer himself, he had been mixing alloys
and creating dusts for Mistborn and Mistings for most of his life.
Vin pocketed both pouch and bar, then turned toward OreSeur. The
kandra regarded her with a flat expression.
"This came for me today?" Vin asked, nodding to the box.
"Yes, Mistress," OreSeur said. "A few hours ago."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I'm sorry, Mistress," OreSeur said in his toneless way, "but you did not
command me to tell you if packages arrived."
Vin ground her teeth. He knew how anxiously she'd been waiting for
another alloy from Terion. All of the previous aluminum alloys they'd tried
had turned out to be duds. It bothered her to know that there was another
Allomantic metal out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered. She
wouldn't be satisfied until she found it.
OreSeur just sat where he was, bland expression on his face, unconscious
wolfhound on the floor in front of him.
"Just get to work on that body," Vin said, spinning and leaving the room
to search for Elend.
Vin finally found Elend in his study, going over some ledgers with a
familiar figure.
"Dox!" Vin said. He'd retired to his rooms soon after his arrival the day
before, and she hadn't seen much of him.
Dockson looked up and smiled. Stocky without being fat, he had short
dark hair and still wore his customary half beard. "Hello, Vin."
"How was Terris?" she asked.
"Cold," Dockson replied. "I'm glad to be back. Though I wish I hadn't
arrived to find that army here."
"Either way, we're glad you've returned, Dockson," Elend said. "The
kingdom practically fell apart without you."
"That hardly seems the case," Dockson said, closing his ledger and
setting it on the stack. "All things—and armies—considered, it looks like
the royal bureaucracy held together fairly well in my absence. You hardly
need me anymore!"
"Nonsense!" Elend said.
Vin leaned against the door, eyeing the two men as they continued their
discussion. They maintained their air of forced joviality. Both were
dedicated to making the new kingdom work, even if it meant pretending
that they liked each other. Dockson pointed at places in the ledgers, talking
about finances and what he'd discovered in the outlying villages under
Elend's control.
Vin sighed, glancing across the room. Sunlight streamed through the
room's stained-glass rose window, throwing colors across the ledgers and
table. Even now, Vin still wasn't accustomed to the casual richness of a
noble keep. The window—red and lavender—was a thing of intricate
beauty. Yet, noblemen apparently found its like so commonplace that they
had put this one in the keep's back rooms, in the small chamber that Elend
now used as his study.
As one might expect, the room was piled with stacks of books. Shelves
lined the walls from floor to ceiling, but they were no match for the sheer
volume of Elend's growing collection. She'd never cared much for Elend's
taste in books. They were mostly political or historical works, things with
topics as musty as their aged pages. Many of them had once been forbidden
by the Steel Ministry, but somehow the old philosophers could make even
salacious topics seem boring.
"Anyway," Dockson said, finally closing his ledgers. "I have some things
to do before your speech tomorrow, Your Majesty. Did Ham say there's a
city defense meeting that evening as well?"
Elend nodded. "Assuming I can get the Assembly to agree not to hand
the city over to my father, we'll need to come up with a strategy to deal with
this army. I'll send someone for you tomorrow night."
"Good," Dockson said. With that, he nodded to Elend, winked at Vin,
then made his way from the cluttered room.
As Dockson shut the door, Elend sighed, then relaxed back in his
oversized plush chair.
Vin walked forward. "He really is a good man, Elend."
"Oh, I realize he is. Being a good man doesn't always make one likable,
however."
"He's nice, too," Vin said. "Sturdy, calm, stable. The crew relied on him."
Even though Dockson wasn't an Allomancer, he had been Kelsier's righthand man.
"He doesn't like me, Vin," Elend said. "It's. . .very hard to get along with
someone who looks at me like that."
"You're not giving him a fair chance," Vin complained, stopping beside
Elend's chair.
He looked up at her, smiling wanly, his vest unbuttoned, his hair an
absolute mess. "Hum. . ." he said idly, taking her hand. "I really like that
shirt. Red looks good on you."
Vin rolled her eyes, letting him gently pull her into the chair and kiss her.
There was a passion to the kiss—a need, perhaps, for something stable. Vin
responded, feeling herself relax as she pulled up against him. A few
minutes later, she sighed, feeling much better snuggled into the chair beside
him. He pulled her close, leaning the chair back into the window's sunlight.
He smiled and glanced at her. "That's a. . .new perfume you're wearing."
Vin 1snorted, putting her head against his chest. "It's not perfume, Elend.
It's dog."
"Ah, good," Elend said. "I was worried that you'd departed from your
senses. Now, is there any particular reason why you smell like dog?"
"I went to the market and bought one, then carried it back and fed it to
OreSeur, so it can be his new body."
Elend paused. "Why, Vin. That's brilliant! Nobody will suspect a dog to
be a spy. I wonder if anyone's ever thought of that before. . .."
"Someone must have," Vin said. "I mean, it makes such sense. I suspect
those who thought of it, however, didn't share the knowledge."
"Good point," Elend said, relaxing back. Yet, from as close as they were,
she could still feel a tension in him.
Tomorrow's speech, Vin thought. He's worried about it.
"I must say, however," Elend said idly, "that I find it a bit disappointing
that you're not wearing dog-scented perfume. With your social station, I
could see some of the local noblewomen trying to imitate you. That could
be amusing indeed."
She leaned up, looking at his smirking face. "You know, Elend—
sometimes it's bloody difficult to tell when you're teasing, and when you're
just being dense."
"That makes me more mysterious, right?"
"Something like that," she said, snuggling up against him again.
"Now, see, you don't understand how clever that is of me," he said. "If
people can't tell when I'm being an idiot and when I'm being a genius,
perhaps they'll assume my blunders are brilliant political maneuverings."
"As long as they don't mistake your actual brilliant moves for blunders."
"That shouldn't be difficult," Elend said. "I fear I have few enough of
those for people to mistake."
Vin looked up with concern at the edge in his voice. He, however, smiled,
shifting the topic. "So, OreSeur the dog. Will he still be able to go out with
you at nights?"
Vin shrugged. "I guess. I wasn't really planning on bringing him for a
while."
"I'd like it if you did take him," Elend said. "I worry about you out there,
every night, pushing yourself so hard."
"I can handle it," Vin said. "Someone needs to watch over you."
"Yes," Elend said, "but who watches over you?"
Kelsier. Even now, that was still her immediate reaction. She'd known
him for less than a year, but that year had been the first in her life that she
had felt protected.
Kelsier was dead. She, like the rest of the world, had to live without him.
"I know you were hurt when you fought those Allomancers the other
night," Elend said. "It would be really nice for my psyche if I knew
someone was with you."
"A kandra's no bodyguard," Vin said.
"I know," Elend said. "But they're incredibly loyal—I've never heard of
one breaking Contract. He'll watch out for you. I worry about you, Vin. You
wonder why I stay up so late, scribbling at my proposals? I can't sleep,
knowing that you might be out there fighting—or, worse, lying somewhere
in a street, dying because nobody was there to help you."
"I take OreSeur with me sometimes."
"Yes," Elend said, "but I know you find excuses to leave him behind.
Kelsier bought you the services of an incredibly valuable servant. I can't
understand why you work so hard to avoid him."
Vin closed her eyes. "Elend. He ate Kelsier."
"So?" Elend asked. "Kelsier was already dead. Besides, he himself gave
that order."
Vin sighed, opening her eyes. "I just. . .don't trust that thing, Elend. The
creature is unnatural."
"I know," Elend said. "My father always kept a kandra. But, OreSeur is
something, at least. Please. Promise me you'll take him with you."
"All right. But I don't think he's going to like the arrangement much
either. He and I didn't get along very well even when he was playing
Renoux, and I his niece."
Elend shrugged. "He'll hold to his Contract. That's what is important."
"He holds to the Contract," Vin said, "but only grudgingly. I swear that
he enjoys frustrating me."
Elend looked down at her. "Vin, kandra are excellent servants. They don't
do things like that."
"No, Elend," Vin said. "Sazed was an excellent servant. He enjoyed being
with people, helping them. I never felt that he resented me. OreSeur may do
everything I command, but he doesn't like me; he never has. I can tell."
Elend sighed, rubbing her shoulder. "Don't you think you might be a little
irrational? There's no real reason to hate him so."
"Oh?" Vin asked. "Just like there's no reason you shouldn't get along with
Dockson?"
Elend paused. Then he sighed. "I guess you have a point," he said. He
continued to rub Vin's shoulder as he stared upward, toward the ceiling,
contemplative.
"What?" Vin asked.
"I'm not doing a very good job of this, am I?"
"Don't be foolish," Vin said. "You're a wonderful king."
"I might be a passable king, Vin, but I'm not him."
"Who?"
"Kelsier," Elend said quietly.
"Elend, nobody expects you to be Kelsier."
"Oh?" he said. "That's why Dockson doesn't like me. He hates noblemen;
it's obvious in the way that he talks, the way he acts. I don't know if I really
blame him, considering the life he's known. Regardless, he doesn't think I
should be king. He thinks that a skaa should be in my place—or, even
better, Kelsier. They all think that."
"That's nonsense, Elend."
"Really? And if Kelsier still lived, would I be king?"
Vin paused.
"You see? They accept me—the people, the merchants, even the
noblemen. But in the back of their minds, they wish they had Kelsier
instead."
"I don't wish that."
"Don't you?"
Vin frowned. Then she sat up, turning so that she was kneeling over
Elend in the reclined chair, their faces just inches apart. "Don't you ever
wonder that, Elend. Kelsier was my teacher, but I didn't love him. Not like I
love you."
Elend stared into her eyes, then nodded. Vin kissed him deeply, then
snuggled down beside him again.
"Why not?" Elend eventually asked.
"Well, he was old, for one thing."
Elend chuckled. "I seem to recall you making fun of my age as well."
"That's different," Vin said. "You're only a few years older than me—
Kelsier was ancient."
"Vin, thirty-eight is not ancient."
"Close enough."
Elend chuckled again, but she could tell that he wasn't satisfied. Why had
she chosen Elend, rather than Kelsier? Kelsier had been the visionary, the
hero, the Mistborn.
"Kelsier was a great man," Vin said quietly as Elend began to stroke her
hair. "But. . .there were things about him, Elend. Frightening things. He was
intense, reckless, even a little bit cruel. Unforgiving. He'd slaughter people
without guilt or concern, just because they upheld the Final Empire or
worked for the Lord Ruler.
"I could love him as a teacher and a friend. But I don't think I could ever
love—not really love—a man like that. I don't blame him; he was of the
streets, like me. When you struggle so hard for life, you grow strong—but
you can grow harsh, too. His fault or not, Kelsier reminded me too much of
men I. . .knew when I was younger. Kell was a far better person than they—
he really could be kind, and he did sacrifice his life for the skaa. However,
he was just so hard."
She closed her eyes, feeling Elend's warmth. "You, Elend Venture, are a
good man. A truly good man."
"Good men don't become legends," he said quietly.
"Good men don't need to become legends." She opened her eyes, looking
up at him. "They just do what's right anyway."
Elend smiled. Then he kissed the top of her head and leaned back. They
lay there for a time, in a room warm with sunlight, relaxing.
"He saved my life, once," Elend finally said.
"Who?" Vin asked with surprise. "Kelsier?"
Elend nodded. "That day after Spook and OreSeur were captured, the day
Kelsier died. There was a battle in the square when Ham and some soldiers
tried to free the captives."
"I was there," Vin said. "Hiding with Breeze and Dox in one of the
alleyways."
"Really?" Elend said, sounding a bit amused. "Because I came looking
for you. I thought that they'd arrested you, along with OreSeur—he was
pretending to be your uncle, then. I tried to get to the cages to rescue you."
"You did what? Elend, it was a battlefield in that square! There was an
Inquisitor there, for the Lord Ruler's sake!"
"I know," Elend said, smiling faintly. "See, that Inquisitor is the one who
tried to kill me. It had its axe raised and everything. And then. . .Kelsier
was there. He smashed into the Inquisitor, throwing it to the ground."
"Probably just a coincidence," Vin said.
"No," Elend said softly. "He meant it, Vin. He looked at me while he
struggled with the Inquisitor, and I saw it in his eyes. I've always wondered
about that moment; everyone tells me that Kelsier hated the nobility even
more than Dox does."
Vin1 paused. "He. . .started to change a little at the end, I think."
"Change enough that he'd risk himself to protect a random nobleman?"
"He knew that I loved you," Vin said, smiling faintly. "I guess, in the end,
that proved stronger than his hatred."
"I didn't realize. . ." He trailed off as Vin turned, hearing something.
Footsteps approaching. She sat up, and a second later, Ham poked his head
into the room. He paused when he saw Vin sitting in Elend's lap, however.
"Oh," Ham said. "Sorry."
"No, wait," Vin said. Ham poked his head back in, and Vin turned to
Elend. "I almost forgot why I came looking for you in the first place. I got a
new package from Terion today."
"Another one?" Elend asked. "Vin, when are you going to give this up?"
"I can't afford to," she said.
"It can't be all that important, can it?" he asked. "I mean, if everybody's
forgotten what that last metal does, then it must not be very powerful."
"Either that," Vin said, "or it was so amazingly powerful that the Ministry
worked very hard to keep it a secret." She slid off of the chair to stand up,
then took the pouch and thin bar out of her pocket. She handed the bar to
Elend, who sat up in his plush chair.
Silvery and reflective, the metal—like the aluminum from which it was
made—felt too light to be real. Any Allomancer who accidentally burned
aluminum had their other metal reserves stripped away from them, leaving
them powerless. Aluminum had been kept secret by the Steel Ministry; Vin
had only found out about it on the night when she'd been captured by the
Inquisitors, the same night she'd killed the Lord Ruler.
They had never been able to figure out the proper Allomantic alloy of
aluminum. Allomantic metals always came in pairs—iron and steel, tin and
pewter, copper and bronze, zinc and brass. Aluminum and. . .something.
Something powerful, hopefully. Her atium was gone. She needed an edge.
Elend sighed, handing back the bar. "The last time you tried to burn one
of those it left you sick for two days, Vin. I was terrified."
"It can't kill me," Vin said. "Kelsier promised that burning a bad alloy
would only make me sick."
Elend shook his head. "Even Kelsier was wrong on occasion, Vin. Didn't
you say that he misunderstood how bronze worked?"
Vin paused. Elend's concern was so genuine that she felt herself being
persuaded. However. . .
When that army attacks, Elend is going to die. The city's skaa might
survive—no ruler would be foolish enough to slaughter the people of such a
productive city. The king, however, would be killed. She couldn't fight off
an entire army, and she could do little to help with preparations.
She did know Allomancy, however. The better she got at it, the better
she'd be able to protect the man she loved.
"I have to try it, Elend," she said quietly. "Clubs says that Straff won't
attack for a few days—he'll need that long to rest his men from the march
and scout the city for attack. That means I can't wait. If this metal does
make me sick, I'll be better in time to help fight—but only if I try it now."
Elend's face grew grim, but he did not forbid her. He had learned better
than that. Instead, he stood. "Ham, you think this is a1 good idea?"
Ham nodded. He was a warrior; to him, her gamble would make sense.
She'd asked him to stay because she'd need someone to carry her back to
her bed, should this go wrong.
"All right," Elend said, turning back to Vin, looking resigned.
Vin climbed into the chair, sat back, then took a pinch of the duralumin
dust and swallowed it. She closed her eyes, and felt at her Allomantic
reserves. The common eight were all there, well stocked. She didn't have
any atium or gold, nor did she have either of their alloys. Even if she'd had
atium, it was too precious to use except in an emergency—and the other
three had only marginal usefulness.
A new reserve appeared. Just as one had the four times before. Each time
she'd burned an aluminum alloy, she'd immediately felt a blinding
headache. You'd think I'd have learned. . .she thought. Gritting her teeth, she
reached inside and burned the new alloy.
Nothing happened.
"Have you tried it yet?" Elend asked apprehensively.
Vin nodded slowly. "No headache. But. . .I'm not sure if the alloy is
doing anything or not."
"But it's burning?" Ham asked.
Vin nodded. She felt the familiar warmth from within, the tiny fire that
told her that a metal was burning. She tried moving about a bit, but couldn't
distinguish any change to her physical self. Finally she just looked up and
shrugged.
Ham frowned. "If it didn't make you sick, then you've found the right
alloy. Each metal only has one valid alloy."
"Or," Vin said, "that's what we've always been told."
Ham nodded. "What alloy was this?"
"Aluminum and copper," Vin said.
"Interesting," Ham said. "You don't feel anything at all?"
Vin shook her head.
"You'll have to practice some more."
"Looks like I'm lucky," Vin said, extinguishing the duralumin. "Terion
came up with forty different alloys he thought we could try, once we had
enough aluminum. This was only the fifth."
"Forty?" Elend asked incredulously. "I wasn't aware that there were so
many metals you could make an alloy from!"
"You don't have to have two metals to make an alloy," Vin said absently.
"Just one metal and something else. Look at steel—it's iron and carbon."
"Forty. . ." Elend repeated. "And you would have tried them all?"
Vin shrugged. "Seemed like a good place to start."
Elend looked concerned at that thought, but didn't say anything further.
Instead, he turned to Ham. "Anyway, Ham, was there something you
wanted to see us about?"
"Nothing important," Ham said. "I just wanted to see if Vin was up for
some sparring. That army has me feeling antsy, and I figure Vin could still
use some practice with the staff."
Vin shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"
"You want to come, El?" Ham asked. "Get in some practice?"
Elend laughed. "And face one of you two? I've got my royal dignity to
think of!"
Vin frowned slightly, looking up at him. 1"You really should practice
more, Elend. You barely know how to hold a sword, and you're terrible
with a dueling cane."
"Now, see, why would I worry about that when I have you to protect
me?"
Vin's concern deepened. "We can't always be around you, Elend. I'd
worry a lot less if you were better at defending yourself."
He just smiled and pulled her to her feet. "I'll get to it eventually, I
promise. But, not today—I've got too much to think about right now. How
about if I just come watch you two? Perhaps I'll pick up something by
observation—which is, by the way, the preferable method of weapons
training, since it doesn't involve me getting beaten up by a girl."
Vin sighed, but didn't press the point further.
I write this record now, pounding it into a metal slab, because I am
afraid. Afraid for myself, yes—I admit to being human. If Alendi does return
from the Well of Ascension, I am certain that my death will be one of his
first objectives. He is not an evil man, but he is a ruthless one. That is, I
think, a product of what he has been through.
6
ELEND LEANED DOWN AGAINST THE railing, looking in at the
sparring yard. Part of him did wish to go out and practice with Vin and
Ham. However, the larger part of him just didn't see the point.
Any assassin likely to come after me will be an Allomancer, he thought. I
could train ten years and be no match for one of them.
In the yard itself, Ham took a few swings with his staff, then nodded. Vin
stepped up, holding her own staff, which was a good foot taller than she
was. Watching the two of them, Elend couldn't help remarking on the
disparity. Ham had the firm muscles and powerful build of a warrior. Vin
looked even thinner than usual, wearing only a tight buttoned shirt and a
pair of trousers, with no cloak to mask her size.
The inequality was enhanced by Ham's next words. "We're practicing
with the staff, not practicing Pushing and Pulling. Don't use anything but
pewter, all right?"
Vin nodded.
It was the way they often sparred. Ham claimed that there was no
substitute for training and practice, no matter how powerful an Allomancer
one was. He let Vin use pewter, however, because he said the enhanced
strength and dexterity was disorienting unless one was accustomed to it.
The sparring field was like a courtyard. Situated in the palace barracks, it
had an open-sided hallway built around it. Elend stood in this, roof
overhead keeping the red sun out of his eyes. That was nice, for a light
ashfall had begun, and occasional flakes of ash floated down from the sky.
Elend crossed his arms on the railing. Soldiers passed occasionally in the
hallway behind, bustling with activity. Some, however, paused to watch;
Vin and Ham's sparring sessions were something of a welcome diversion to
the palace guards.
I should be working on my proposal, Elend thought. Not standing here
watching Vin fight.
But. . .the tension of the last few days had been so pressing that he was
finding it difficult to get up the motivation to do yet another read-through
of the speech. What he really needed was to just spend a few moments
thinking.
So, he simply watched. Vin approached Ham warily, staff held in a firm,
two-handed stance. Once, Elend p1robably would have found trousers and
shirt on a lady to be inappropriate, but he'd been around Vin too long to still
be bothered by that. Ball gowns and dresses were beautiful—but there was
something right about Vin in simple garb. She wore it more comfortably.
Besides, he kind of liked how the tight clothing looked on her.
Vin usually let others strike first, and this day was no exception. Staves
rapped as Ham engaged her, and despite her size, Vin held her own. After a
quick exchange, they both backed away, circling warily.
"My money's on the girl."
Elend turned as he noticed a form limping down the hallway toward him.
Clubs stepped up beside Elend, setting a ten-boxing coin down on the
railing with a snap. Elend smiled to the general, and Clubs scowled back—
which was generally accepted as Clubs's version of a smile. Dockson
excluded, Elend had taken quickly to the other members of Vin's crew.
Clubs, however, had taken a little getting used to. The stocky man had a
face like a gnarled toadstool, and he always seemed to be squinting in
displeasure—an expression usually matched by his tone of voice.
However, he was a gifted craftsman, not to mention an Allomancer—a
Smoker, actually, though he didn't get to use his power much anymore. For
the better part of a year, Clubs had acted as general of Elend's military
forces. Elend didn't know where Clubs had learned to lead soldiers, but the
man had a remarkable knack for it. He'd probably gotten the skill in the
same place that he'd acquired the scar on his leg—a scar that produced the
hobble from which Clubs drew his nickname.
"They're just sparring, Clubs," Elend said. "There won't be a 'winner.'"
"They'll end with a serious exchange," Clubs said. "They always do."
Elend paused. "You're asking me to bet against Vin, you know," he noted.
"That could be unhealthy."
"So?"
Elend smiled, pulling out a coin. Clubs still kind of intimidated him, and
he didn't want to risk offending the man.
"Where's that worthless nephew of mine?" Clubs asked as he watched the
sparring.
"Spook?" Elend asked. "He's back? How'd he get into the city?"
Clubs shrugged. "He left something on my doorstep this morning."
"A gift?"
Clubs snorted. "It was a woodcarving from a master carpenter up in
Yelva City. The note said, 'I just wanted to show you what real carpenters
are up to, old man.'"
Elend chuckled, but trailed off as Clubs eyed him with a discomforting
stare. "Whelp was never this insolent before," Clubs muttered. "I swear, you
lot have corrupted the lad."
Clubs almost seemed to be smiling. Or, was he serious? Elend couldn't
ever decide if the man was as crusty as he seemed, or if Elend was the butt
of some elaborate joke.
"How is the army doing?" Elend finally asked.
"Terribly," Clubs said. "You want an army? Give me more than one year
to train it. Right now, I'd barely trust those boys against a mob of old
women with sticks."
Great, Elend thought.
"Can't do much right now, though," Clubs grumbled. "Straff is digging in
some cursory fortifications, but mostly he's just resting his men. The attack
w1ill come by the end of the week."
In the courtyard, Vin and Ham continued to fight. It was slow, for the
moment, Ham taking time to pause and explain principles or stances. Elend
and Clubs watched for a short time as the sparring gradually became more
intense, the rounds taking longer, the two participants beginning to sweat as
their feet kicked up puffs of ash in the packed, sooty earth.
Vin gave Ham a good contest despite the ridiculous differences in
strength, reach, and training, and Elend found himself smiling slightly
despite himself. She was something special—Elend had realized that when
he'd first seen her in the Venture ballroom, nearly two years before. He was
only now coming to realize how much of an understatement "special" was.
A coin snapped against the wooden railing. "My money's on Vin, too."
Elend turned with surprise. The man who had spoken was a soldier who
had been standing with the others watching behind. Elend frowned. "Who
—"
Then, Elend cut himself off. The beard was wrong, the posture too
straight, but the man standing behind him was familiar. "Spook?" Elend
asked incredulously.
The teenage boy smiled behind an apparently fake beard. "Wasing the
where of calling out."
Elend's head immediately began to hurt. "Lord Ruler, don't tell me you've
gone back to the dialect?"
"Oh, just for the occasional nostalgic quip," Spook said with a laugh. His
words bore traces of his Easterner accent; during the first few months Elend
had known the boy, Spook had been utterly unintelligible. Fortunately, the
boy had grown out of using his street cant, just as he'd managed to grow out
of most of his clothing. Well over six feet tall, the sixteen-year-old young
man hardly resembled the gangly boy Elend had met a year before.
Spook leaned against the railing beside Elend, adopting a teenage boy's
lounging posture and completely destroying his image as a soldier—which,
indeed, he wasn't.
"Why the costume, Spook?" Elend asked with a frown.
Spook shrugged. "I'm no Mistborn. We more mundane spies have to find
ways to get information without flying up to windows and listening
outside."
"How long you been standing there?" Clubs asked, glaring at his nephew.
"Since before you got here, Uncle Grumbles," Spook said. "And, in
answer to your question, I got back a couple days ago. Before Dockson,
actually. I just thought I'd take a bit of a break before I went back to duty."
"I don't know if you've noticed, Spook," Elend said, "but we're at war.
There isn't a lot of time to take breaks."
Spook shrugged. "I just didn't want you to send me away again. If there's
going to be war here, I want to be around. You know, for the excitement."
Clubs snorted. "And where did you get that uniform?"
"Uh. . .Well. . ." Spook glanced to the side, displaying just a hint of the
uncertain boy Elend had known.
Clubs grumbled something about insolent boys, but Elend just laughed
and clapped Spook on the shoulder. The boy looked up, smiling; though
he'd been easy to ignore at first, he was proving as valuable as any of the
other members of Vin's former crew. As a Tineye—a Misting who could
burn tin to enhance his senses—Spook could listen to conversations from
far away, not to mention notice distant details.
"Anyway, welcome back," Elend said. "What's the word from the west?"
Spook shook his head. "I hate to sound too much like Uncle Crusty over
there, but the news isn't good. You know those rumors about the Lord
Ruler's atium being in Luthadel? Well, they're back. Stronger this time."
"I thought we were past that!" Elend said. Breeze and his team had spent
the better part of six months spreading rumors and manipulating the
warlords into believing that the atium must have been hidden in another
city, since Elend hadn't found it in Luthadel.
"Guess not," Spook said. "And. . .I think someone's spreading these
rumors intentionally. I've been on the street long enough to sense a planted
story, and this rumor smells wrong. Someone really wants the warlords to
focus on you."
Great, Elend thought. "You don't know where Breeze is, do you?"
Spook shrugged, but he no longer seemed to be paying attention to
Elend. He was watching the sparring. Elend glanced back toward Vin and
Ham.
As Clubs had predicted, the two had fallen into a more serious contest.
There was no more instruction; there were no more quick, repetitive
exchanges. They sparred in earnest, fighting in a swirling melee of staffs
and dust. Ash flew around them, blown up by the wind of their attacks, and
even more soldiers paused in the surrounding hallways to watch.
Elend leaned forward. There was something intense about a duel between
two Allomancers. Vin tried an attack. Ham, however, swung
simultaneously, his staff blurringly quick. Somehow, Vin got her own
weapon up in time, but the power of Ham's blow threw her back in a
tumble. She hit the ground on one shoulder. She gave barely a grunt of pain,
however, and somehow got a hand beneath her, throwing herself up to land
on her feet. She skidded for a moment, retaining her balance, holding her
staff up.
Pewter, Elend thought. It made even a clumsy man dexterous. And, for a
person normally graceful like Vin. . .
Vin's eyes narrowed, her innate stubbornness showing in the set of her
jaw, the displeasure in her face. She didn't like being beaten—even when
her opponent was obviously stronger than she was.
Elend stood up straight, intending to suggest an end to the sparring. At
that moment, Vin dashed forward.
Ham brought his staff up expectantly, swinging as Vin came within
reach. She ducked to the side, passing within inches of the attack, then
brought her weapon around and slammed it into the back of Ham's staff,
throwing him off balance. Then she ducked in for the attack.
Ham, however, recovered quickly. He let the force of Vin's blow spin him
around, and he used the momentum to bring his staff around in a powerful
blow aimed directly at Vin's chest.
Elend cried out.
Vin jumped.
She didn't have metal to Push against, but that didn't seem to matter. She
sprang a good seven feet in the air, easily cresting Ham's staff. She flipped
as the swing passed beneath her, her fingers brushing the air just above the
weapon, her own staff spinning in a one-handed grip.
Vin landed, her staff already howling in a low swing, its tip throwing up a
line of ash as it ran along the ground. It slammed into the back of Ham's
legs. The blow swept Ham's feet out from beneath him, and he cried out as
he fell.
Vin jumped into the air again.
Ham slammed to the earth on his back, and Vin landed on his chest.
Then, she calmly rapped him on the forehead with the end of her staff. "I
win."
Ham lay, looking dazed, Vin crouching on his chest. Dust and ash settled
quietly in the courtyard.
"Damn. . ." Spook whispered, voicing a sentiment that seemed to be
shared by the dozen or so watching soldiers.
Finally, Ham chuckled. "Fine. You beat me—now, if you would, kindly
get me something to drink while I try to massage some feeling back into my
legs."
Vin smiled, hopping off his chest and scampering away to do as
requested. Ham shook his head, climbing to his feet. Despite his words, he
walked with barely a limp; he'd probably have a bruise, but it wouldn't
bother him for long. Pewter not only enhanced one's strength, balance, and
speed, it also made one's body innately stronger. Ham could shrug off a
blow that would have shattered Elend's legs.
Ham joined them, nodding to Clubs and punching Spook lightly on the
arm. Then he leaned against the railing and rubbed his left calf, cringing
slightly. "I swear, Elend—sometimes sparring with that girl is like trying to
fight with a gust of wind. She's never where I think she'll be."
"How did she do that, Ham?" Elend asked. "The jump, I mean. That leap
seemed inhuman, even for an Allomancer."
"Used steel, didn't she?" Spook said.
Ham shook his head. "No, I doubt it."
"Then how?" Elend asked.
"Allomancers draw strength from their metals," Ham said, sighing and
putting his foot down. "Some can squeeze out more than others—but the
real power comes from the metal itself, not the person's body."
Elend paused. "So?"
"So," Ham said, "an Allomancer doesn't have to be physically strong to
be incredibly powerful. If Vin were a Feruchemist, it would be different—if
you ever see Sazed increase his strength, his muscles will grow larger. But
with Allomancy, all the strength comes directly from the metal.
"Now, most Thugs—myself included—figure that making their bodies
strong will only add to their power. After all, a muscular man burning
pewter will be that much stronger than a regular man of the same
Allomantic power."
Ham rubbed his chin, eyeing the passage Vin had left through. "But. .
.well, I'm beginning to think that there might be another way. Vin's a thin
little thing, but when she burns pewter, she grows several times stronger
than any normal warrior. She packs all that strength into a small body, and
doesn't have to bother with the weight of massive muscles. She's like. . .an
insect. Far stronger than her mass or her body would indicate. So, when she
jumps, she can jump."
"But you're still stronger than she is," Spook said.
Ham nodded. "And I can make use of that—assuming I can ever hit her.
That's getting harder and harder to do."
Vin finally returned, carrying a jug of chilled juice—apparently she'd
decided to go all the way to the keep, rather than grabbing some of the
warm ale kept on hand in the courtyard. She handed a flagon to Ham, and
had thought to bring cups for Elend and Clubs.
"Hey!" Spook said as she poured. "What about me?"
"That beard looks silly on you," Vin said as she poured.
"So I don't get anything to drink?"
"No."
Spook paused. "Vin, you're a strange girl."
Vin rolled her eyes; then she glanced toward the water barrel in the
corner of the courtyard. One of the tin cups lying beside it lurched into the
air, shooting across the courtyard. Vin stuck her hand out, catching it with a
slapping sound, then set it on the railing before Spook. "Happy?"
"I will be once you pour me something to drink," Spook said as Clubs
grunted, taking a slurp from his own cup. The old general then reached
over, sliding two of the coins off the railing and pocketing them.
"Hey, that's right!" Spook said. "You owe me, El. Pay up."
Elend lowered his cup. "I never agreed to the bet."
"You paid Uncle Irritable. Why not me?"
Elend paused, then sighed, pulling out a ten-boxing coin and setting it
beside Spook's. The boy smiled, plucking both up in a smooth street-thief
gesture. "Thanks for winning the bout, Vin," he said with a wink.
Vin frowned at Elend. "You bet against me?"
Elend laughed, leaning across the railing to kiss her. "I didn't mean it.
Clubs bullied me."
Clubs snorted at that comment, downed the rest of his juice, then held out
his cup for a refill. When Vin didn't respond, he turned to Spook and gave
the boy a telling scowl. Finally, Spook sighed, picking up the jug to refill
the cup.
Vin was still regarding Elend with dissatisfaction.
"I'd be careful, Elend," Ham said with a chuckle. "She can hit pretty hard.
. .."
Elend nodded. "I should know better than to antagonize her when there
are weapons lying around, eh?"
"Tell me about it," Ham said.
Vin sniffed at that comment, rounding the railing so that she could stand
next to Elend. Elend put his arm around her, and as he did, he caught a bare
flash of envy in Spook's eyes. Elend suspected that the boy'd had a crush on
Vin for some time—but, well, Elend couldn't really blame him for that.
Spook shook his head. "I've got to find myself a woman."
"Well, that beard isn't going to help," Vin said.
"It's just a disguise, Vin," Spook said. "El, I don't suppose you could give
me a title or something?"
Elend smiled. "I don't think that will matter, Spook."
"It worked for you."
"Oh, I don't know," Elend said. "Somehow, I think Vin fell in love with
me despite my title, rather than because of it."
"But you had others before her," Spook said. "Noble girls."
"A couple," Elend admitted.
"Though Vin has a habit of killing off her competition," Ham quipped.
Elend laughed. "Now, see, she only did that once. And I think Shan
deserved it—she was, after all, trying to assassinate me at the time." He
looked down fondly, eyeing Vin. "Though, I do have to admit, Vin is a bit
hard on other women. With her around, everybody else looks bland by
comparison."
Spook rolled his eyes. "It's more interesting when she kills them off."
Ham chuckled, letting Spook pour him some more juice. "Lord Ruler
only knows what she'd do to you if you ever tried to leave her, Elend."
Vin stiffened immediately, pulling him a little tighter. She'd been
abandoned far too many times. Even after what they'd been through, even
after his proposal of marriage, Elend had to keep promising Vin that he
wasn't going to leave her.
Time to change the topic, Elend thought, the joviality of the moment
fading. "Well," he said, "I think I'm going to go visit the kitchens and get
something to eat. You coming, Vin?"
Vin glanced at the sky—likely checking to see how soon it would grow
dark. Finally, she nodded.
"I'll come," Spook said.
"No you won't," Clubs said, grabbing the boy by the back of the neck.
"You're going to stay right here and explain exactly where you got one of
my soldiers' uniforms."
Elend chuckled, leading Vin away. Truth be told, even with the slightly
sour end of conversation, he felt better for having come to watch the
sparring. It was strange how the members of Kelsier's crew could laugh and
make light, even during the most terrible of situations. They had a way of
making him forget about his problems. Perhaps that was a holdover from
the Survivor. Kelsier had, apparently, insisted on laughing, no matter how
bad the situation. It had been a form of rebellion to him.
None of that made the problems go away. They still faced an army
several times larger than their own, in a city that they could barely defend.
Yet, if anyone could survive such a situation, it would be Kelsier's crew.
Later that night, having filled her stomach at Elend's insistence, Vin made
her way with Elend to her rooms.
There, sitting on the floor, was a perfect replica of the wolfhound she had
bought earlier. It eyed her, then bowed its head. "Welcome back, Mistress,"
the kandra said in a growling, muffled voice.
Elend whistled appreciatively, and Vin walked in a circle around the
creature. Each hair appeared to have been placed perfectly. If it hadn't
spoken, one would never have been able to tell it wasn't the original dog.
"How do you manage the voice?" Elend asked curiously.
"A voice box is a construction of flesh, not bone, Your Majesty," OreSeur
said. "Older kandra learn to manipulate their bodies, not just replicate them.
I still need to digest a person's corpse to memorize and re-create their exact
features. However, I can improvise some things."
Vin nodded. "Is that why making this body took you so much longer than
you'd said?"
"No, Mistress," OreSeur said. "The hair. I'm sorry I didn't warn you—
placing fur like this takes a great deal of precision and effort."
"Actually, you did mention it," Vin said, waving her hand.
"What do you think of the body, OreSeur?" Elend asked.
"Honestly, Your Majesty?"
"Of course."
"It is offensive and degrading," OreSeur said.
Vin raised an eyebrow. That's forward of you, Renoux, she thought.
Feeling a little belligerent today, are we?
He glanced at her, and she tried—unsuccessfully—to read his canine
expression.
"But," Elend said, "you'll wear the body anyway, right?"
"Of course, Your Majesty," OreSeur said. "I would die before breaking
the Contract. It is life."
Elend nodded to Vin, as if he'd just made a major point.
Anyone can claim loyalty, Vin thought. If someone has a "Contract" to
ensure their honor, then all the better. That makes the surprise more
poignant when they do turn on you.
Elend was obviously waiting for something. Vin sighed. "OreSeur, we'll
be spending more time together in the future."
"If that is what you wish, Mistress."
"I'm not sure if it is or not," Vin said. "But it's going to happen anyway.
How well can you move about in that body?"
"Well enough, Mistress."
"Come on," she said, "let's see if you can keep up."
I am also afraid, however, that all I have known—that my story—will be
forgotten. I am afraid for the world that is to come. Afraid that my plans
will fail.
Afraid of a doom worse, even, than the Deepness.
7
SAZED NEVER THOUGHT HE'D HAVE reason to appreciate dirt
floors. However, they proved remarkably useful in writing instruction. He
drew several words in the dirt with a long stick, giving his half-dozen
students a model. They proceeded to scribble their own copies, rewriting
the words several times.
Even after living among various groups of rural skaa for a year, Sazed
was still surprised by their meager resources. There wasn't a single piece of
chalk in the entire village, let alone ink or paper. Half the children ran
around naked, and the only shelters were the hovels—long, one-room
structures with patchy roofs. The skaa had farming tools, fortunately, but no
manner of bows or slings for hunting.
Sazed had led a scavenging mission up to the plantation's abandoned
manor. The leavings had been meager. He'd suggested that the village elders
relocate their people to the manor itself for the winter, but he doubted they
would do so. They had visited the manor with apprehension, and many
hadn't been willing to leave Sazed's side. The place reminded them of lords
—and lords reminded them of pain.
His students continued to scribble. He had spent quite a bit of effort
explaining to the elders why writing was so important. Finally, they had
chosen him some students—partially, Sazed was sure, just to appease him.
He shook his head slowly as he watched them write. There was no passion
in their learning. They came because they were ordered, and because
"Master Terrisman" willed it, not because of any real desire for education.
During the days before the Collapse, Sazed had often imagined what the
world would be like once the Lord Ruler was gone. He had pictured the
Keepers emerging, bringing forgotten knowledge and truths to an excited,
thankful populace. He'd imagined teaching before a warm hearth at night,
telling stories to an eager audience. He'd never paused to consider a village,
stripped of its working men, whose people were too exhausted at night to
bother with tales from the past. He'd never imagined a people who seemed
more annoyed by his presence than thankful.
You must be patient with them, Sazed told himself sternly. His dreams
now seemed like hubris. The Keepers who had come before him, the
hundreds who had died keeping their knowledge safe and quiet, had never
expected praise or accolades. They had performed their great task with
solemn anonymity.
Sazed stood up and inspected his students' writings. They were getting
better—they could recognize all of the letters. It wasn't much, but it was a
start. He nodded to the group, dismissing them to help prepare the evening
meal.
They bowed, then scattered. Sazed followed them out, then realized how
dim the sky was; he had probably kept his students too late. He shook his
head as he strolled between the hill-like hovels. He again wore his steward's
robes, with their colorful V-shaped patterns, and he had put in several of his
earrings. He kept to the old ways because they were familiar, even though
they were also a symbol of oppression. How would future Terris
generations dress? Would a lifestyle forced upon them by the Lord Ruler
become an innate part of their culture?
He paused at the edge of the village, glancing down the corridor of the
southern valley. It was filled with blackened soil occasionally split by
brown vines or shrubs. No mist, of course; mist came only during the night.
The stories had to be mistakes. The thing he'd seen had to have been a
fluke.
And what did it matter if it wasn't? It wasn't his duty to investigate such
things. Now that the Collapse had come, he had to disperse his knowledge,
not waste his time chasing after foolish stories. Keepers were no longer
investigators, but instructors. He carried with him thousands of books—
information about farming, about sanitation, about government, and about
medicine. He needed to give these things to the skaa. That was what the
Synod had decided.
And yet, a part of Sazed resisted. That made him feel deeply guilty; the
villagers needed his teachings, and he wished dearly to help them.
However. . .he felt that he was missing something. The Lord Ruler was
dead, but the story did not seem finished. Was there something he had
overlooked?
Something larger, even, than the Lord Ruler? Something so large, so big,
that it was effectively invisible?
Or, do I just want there to be something else? he wondered. I've spent
most of my adult life resisting and fighting, taking risks that the other
Keepers called mad. I wasn't content with feigned subservience—I had to
get involved in the rebellion.
Despite that rebellion's success, Sazed's brethren still hadn't forgiven him
for his involvement. He knew that Vin and the others saw him as docile, but
compared with other Keepers he was a wild man. A reckless, untrustworthy
fool who threatened the entire order with his impatience. They had believed
their duty was to wait, watching for the day when the Lord Ruler was gone.
Feruchemists were too rare to risk in open rebellion.
Sazed had disobeyed. Now he was having trouble living the peaceful life
of a teacher. Was that because some subconscious part of him knew that the
people were still in danger, or was it because he simply couldn't accept
being marginalized?
"Master Terrisman!"
Sazed spun. The voice was terrified. Another death in the mists? he
thought immediately.
It was eerie how the other skaa remained inside their hovels despite the
horrified voice. A few doors creaked, but nobody rushed out in alarm—or
even curiosity—as the screamer dashed up to Sazed1. She was one of the
fieldworkers, a stout, middle-aged woman. Sazed checked his reserves as
she approached; he had on his pewtermind for strength, of course, and a
very small steel ring for speed. Suddenly, he wished he'd chosen to wear
just a few more bracelets this day.
"Master Terrisman!" the woman said, out of breath. "Oh, he's come back!
He's come for us!"
"Who?" Sazed asked. "The man who died in the mists?"
"No, Master Terrisman. The Lord Ruler."
Sazed found him standing just outside the village. It was already growing
dark, and the woman who'd fetched Sazed had returned to her hovel in fear.
Sazed could only imagine how the poor people felt—trapped by the onset
of the night and its mist, yet huddled and worried at the danger that lurked
outside.
And an ominous danger it was. The stranger waited quietly on the worn
road, wearing a black robe, standing almost as tall as Sazed himself. The
man was bald, and he wore no jewelry—unless, of course, you counted the
massive iron spikes that had been driven point-first through his eyes.
Not the Lord Ruler. A Steel Inquisitor.
Sazed still didn't understand how the creatures continued to live. The
spikes were wide enough to fill the Inquisitor's entire eye sockets; the nails
had destroyed the eyes, and pointed tips jutted out the back of the skull. No
blood dripped from the wounds—for some reason, that made them seem
more strange.
Fortunately, Sazed knew this particular Inquisitor. "Marsh," Sazed said
quietly as the mists began to form.
"You are a very difficult person to track, Terrisman," Marsh said—and
the sound of his voice shocked Sazed. It had changed, somehow, becoming
more grating, more gristly. It now had a grinding quality, like that of a man
with a cough. Just like the other Inquisitors Sazed had heard.
"Track?" Sazed asked. "I wasn't planning on others needing to find me."
"Regardless," Marsh said, turning south. "I did. You need to come with
me."
Sazed frowned. "What? Marsh, I have a work to do here."
"Unimportant," Marsh said, turning back, focusing his eyeless gaze on
Sazed.
Is it me, or has he become stranger since we last met? Sazed shivered.
"What is this about, Marsh?"
"The Conventical of Seran is empty."
Sazed paused. The Conventical was a Ministry stronghold to the south—
a place where the Inquisitors and high obligators of the Lord Ruler's
religion had retreated after the Collapse.
"Empty?" Sazed asked. "That isn't likely, I think."
"True nonetheless," Marsh said. He didn't use body language as he spoke
—no gesturing, no movements of the face.
"I. . ." Sazed trailed off. What kinds of information, wonders, secrets, the
Conventical's libraries must hold.
"You must come with me," Marsh said. "I may need help, should my
brethren discover us."
My brethren. Since when are the Inquisitors Marsh's "brethren"? Marsh
had infiltrated their numbers as part of Kelsier's plan to overthrow the Final
Empire. He was a traitor to their numbers, not their brother.
Sazed hesitated. Marsh's profile looked. . .unnatura1l, even unnerving, in
the dim light. Dangerous.
Don't be foolish, Sazed chastised himself. Marsh was Kelsier's brother—
the Survivor's only living relative. As an Inquisitor, Marsh had authority
over the Steel Ministry, and many of the obligators had listened to him
despite his involvement with the rebellion. He had been an invaluable
resource for Elend Venture's fledgling government.
"Go get your things," Marsh said.
My place is here, Sazed thought. Teaching the people, not gallivanting
across the countryside, chasing my own ego.
And yet. . .
"The mists are coming during the day," Marsh said quietly.
Sazed looked up. Marsh was staring at him, the heads of his spikes
shining like round disks in the last slivers of sunlight. Superstitious skaa
thought that Inquisitors could read minds, though Sazed knew that was
foolish. Inquisitors had the powers of Mistborn, and could therefore
influence other people's emotions—but they could not read minds.
"Why did you say that?" Sazed asked.
"Because it is true," Marsh said. "This is not over, Sazed. It has not yet
begun. The Lord Ruler. . .he was just a delay. A cog. Now that he is gone,
we have little time remaining. Come with me to the Conventical—we must
search it while we have the opportunity."
Sazed paused, then nodded. "Let me go explain to the villagers. We can
leave tonight, I think."
Marsh nodded, but he didn't move as Sazed retreated to the village. He
just remained, standing in the darkness, letting the mist gather around him.
It all comes back to poor Alendi. I feel bad for him, and for all the things
he has been forced to endure. For what he has been forced to become.
8
VIN THREW HERSELF INTO THE mists. She soared in the night air,
passing over darkened homes and streets. An occasional, furtive bob of
light glowed in the mists—a guard patrol, or perhaps an unfortunate latenight traveler.
Vin began to descend, and she immediately flipped a coin out before
herself. She Pushed against it, her weight plunging it down into the quiet
depths. As soon as it hit the street below, her Push forced her upward, and
she sprang back into the air. Soft Pushes were very difficult—so each coin
she Pushed against, each jump she made, threw her into the air at a terrible
speed. The jumping of a Mistborn wasn't like a bird's flight. It was more
like the path of a ricocheting arrow.
And yet, there was a grace to it. Vin breathed deeply as she arced above
the city, tasting the cool, humid air. Luthadel by day smelled of burning
forges, sun-heated refuse, and fallen ash. At night, however, the mists gave
the air a beautiful chill crispness—almost a cleanliness.
Vin crested her jump, and she hung for just a brief moment as her
momentum changed. Then she began to plummet back toward the city. Her
mistcloak tassels fluttered around her, mingling with her hair. She fell with
her eyes closed, remembering her first few weeks in the mist, training
beneath Kelsier's relaxed—yet watchful—tutelage. He had given her this.
Freedom. Despite two years as a Mistborn, she had never lost the sense of
intoxicating wonder she felt when soaring through the mists.
She burned steel with her eyes closed; t1he lines appeared anyway,
visible as a spray of threadlike blue lines set against the blackness of her
eyelids. She picked two, pointing downward behind her, and Pushed,
throwing herself into an other arc.
What did I ever do without this? Vin thought, opening her eyes, whipping
her mistcloak behind her with a throw of the arm.
Eventually, she began to fall again, and this time she didn't toss a coin.
She burned pewter to strengthen her limbs, and landed with a thump on the
wall surrounding Keep Venture's grounds. Her bronze showed no signs of
Allomantic activity nearby, and her steel revealed no unusual patterns of
metal moving toward the keep.
Vin crouched on the dark wall for a few moments, right at the edge, toes
curling over the lip of the stone. The rock was cool beneath her feet, and her
tin made her skin far more sensitive than normal. She could tell that the
wall needed to be cleaned; lichens were beginning to grow along its side,
encouraged by the night's humidity, protected from the day's sun by a
nearby tower.
Vin remained quiet, watching a slight breeze push and churn the mists.
She heard the movement on the street below before she saw it. She tensed,
checking her reserves, before she was able to discern a wolfhound's shape
in the shadows.
She dropped a coin over the side of the wall, then leapt off. OreSeur
waited as she landed quietly before him, using a quick Push on the coin to
slow her descent.
"You move quickly," Vin noted appreciatively.
"All I had to do was round the palace grounds, Mistress."
"Still, you stuck closer to me this time than you ever did before. That
wolfhound's body is faster than a human one."
OreSeur paused. "I suppose," he admitted.
"Think you can follow me through the city?"
"Probably," OreSeur said. "If you lose me, I will return to this point so
you can retrieve me."
Vin turned and dashed down a side street. OreSeur then took off quietly
behind her, following.
Let's see how well he does in a more demanding chase, she thought,
burning pewter and increasing her speed. She sprinted along the cool
cobbles, barefoot as always. A normal man could never have maintained
such a speed. Even a trained runner couldn't have kept pace with her, for he
would have quickly tired.
With pewter, however, Vin could run for hours at breakneck speeds. It
gave her strength, lent her an unreal sense of balance, as she shot down the
dark, mist-ruled street, a flurry of cloak tassels and bare feet.
OreSeur kept pace. He loped beside her in the night, breathing heavily,
focused on his running.
Impressive, Vin thought, then turned down an alleyway. She easily
jumped the six-foot-tall fence at the back, passing into the garden of some
lesser nobleman's mansion. She spun, skidding on the wet grass, and
watched.
OreSeur crested the top of the wooden fence, his dark, canine form
dropping through the mists to land in the loam before Vin. He came to a
stop, resting on his haunches, waiting quietly, panting. There was a look of
defiance in his eyes.
All right, Vin thought, pulling out a handful of coins. Follow this.
She dropped a coin and threw herself backward up into the air. She spun
in the mists, twisting, then Pushed herself sideways off a well spigot. She
landed on a rooftop and jumped off, using another coin to Push herself over
the street below.
She kept going, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, using coins when
necessary. She occasionally shot a glance behind, and saw a dark form
struggling to keep up. He'd rarely followed her as a human; usually, she had
checked in with him at specific points. Moving out in the night, jumping
through the mists. . .this was the true domain of the Mistborn. Did Elend
understand what he asked when he told her to bring OreSeur with her? If
she stayed down on the streets, she'd expose herself.
She landed on a rooftop, jarring to a sudden halt as she grabbed hold of
the building's stone lip, leaning out over a street three stories below. She
maintained her balance, mist swirling below her. All was silent.
Well, that didn't take long, she thought. I'll just have to explain to Elend
that—
OreSeur's canine form thumped to the rooftop a short distance away. He
padded over to her, then sat down on his haunches, waiting expectantly.
Vin frowned. She'd traveled for a good ten minutes, running over
rooftops with the speed of a Mistborn. "How. . .how did you get up here?"
she demanded.
"I jumped atop a shorter building, then used it to reach these tenements,
Mistress," OreSeur said. "Then I followed you along the rooftops. They are
placed so closely together that it was not difficult to jump from one to
another."
Vin's confusion must have shown, for OreSeur continued. "I may have
been. . .hasty in my judgment of these bones, Mistress. They certainly do
have an impressive sense of smell—in fact, all of their senses are quite
keen. It was surprisingly easy to track you, even in the darkness."
"I. . .see," Vin said. "Well, that's good."
"Might I ask, Mistress, the purpose of that chase?"
Vin shrugged. "I do this sort of thing every night."
"It seemed like you were particularly intent on losing me. It will be very
difficult to protect you if you don't let me stay near you."
"Protect me?" Vin asked. "You can't even fight."
"The Contract forbids me from killing a human," OreSeur said. "I could,
however, go for help should you need it."
Or throw me a bit of atium in a moment of danger, Vin admitted. He's
right—he could be useful. Why am I so determined to leave him behind?
She glanced over at OreSeur, who sat patiently, his chest puffing from
exertion. She hadn't realized that kandra even needed to breathe.
He ate Kelsier.
"Come on," Vin said. She jumped from the building, Pushing herself off
a coin. She didn't pause to see if OreSeur followed.
As she fell, she reached for another coin, but decided not to use it. She
Pushed against a passing window bracket instead. Like most Mistborn, she
often used clips—the smallest denomination of coin—to jump. It was very
convenient that the economy supplied a prepackaged bit of metal of an ideal
size and weight for jumping and shooting. To most Mistborn, the cost of a
thrown clip—or even a bag of them—was negligible.
But Vin was not most Mistborn. In her younger years, a handful of clips
would have seemed an amazing treasure. That m1uch money could have
meant food for weeks, if she scrimped. It also could have meant pain—even
death—if the other thieves had discovered that she'd obtained such a
fortune.
It had been a long time since she'd gone hungry. Though she still kept a
pack of dried foods in her quarters, she did so more out of habit than
anxiety. She honestly wasn't sure what she thought of the changes within
her. It was nice not to have to worry about basic necessities—and yet, those
worries had been replaced by ones far more daunting. Worries involving the
future of an entire nation.
The future of. . .a people. She landed on the city wall—a structure much
higher, and much better fortified, than the small wall around Keep Venture.
She hopped up on the battlements, fingers seeking a hold on one of the
merlons as she leaned over the edge of the wall, looking out over the army's
fires.
She had never met Straff Venture, but she had heard enough from Elend
to be worried.
She sighed, pushing back off the battlement and hopping onto the wall
walk. Then she leaned back against one of the merlons. To the side,
OreSeur trotted up the wall steps and approached. Once again, he went
down onto his haunches, watching patiently.
For better or for worse, Vin's simple life of starvation and beatings was
gone. Elend's fledgling kingdom was in serious danger, and she'd burned
away the last of his atium trying to keep herself alive. She'd left him
exposed—not just to armies, but to any Mistborn assassin who tried to kill
him.
An assassin like the Watcher, perhaps? The mysterious figure who had
interfered in her fight against Cett's Mistborn. What did he want? Why did
he watch her, rather than Elend?
Vin sighed, reaching into her coin pouch and pulling out her bar of
duralumin. She still had the reserve of it within her, the bit she'd swallowed
earlier.
For centuries, it had been assumed that there were only ten Allomantic
metals: the four base metals and their alloys, plus atium and gold. Yet,
Allomantic metals always came in pairs—a base metal and an alloy. It had
always bothered Vin that atium and gold were considered a pair, when
neither was an alloy of the other. In the end, it had turned out that they
weren't actually paired; they each had an alloy. One of these—malatium, the
so-called Eleventh Metal—had eventually given Vin the clue she'd needed
to defeat the Lord Ruler.
Somehow Kelsier had found out about malatium. Sazed still hadn't been
able to trace the "legends" that Kelsier had supposedly uncovered teaching
of the Eleventh Metal and its power to defeat the Lord Ruler.
Vin rubbed her finger on the slick surface of the duralumin bar. When
Vin had last seen Sazed, he'd seemed frustrated—or, at least, as frustrated as
Sazed ever grew—that he couldn't find even hints regarding Kelsier's
supposed legends. Though Sazed claimed he'd left Luthadel to teach the
people of the Final Empire—as was his duty as a Keeper—Vin hadn't
missed the fact that Sazed had gone south. The direction in which Kelsier
claimed to have discovered the Eleventh Metal.
Are there rumors about this metal, too? Vin wondered, rubbing the
duralumin. Ones that might tell me what it does?
Each of the other metals produced an immediate, visible effect; only
copper, with its ability to create a cloud that masked an Allomancer's
powers from others, didn't have an obvious sensory clue to its purpose.
Perhaps duralumin was similar. Could its effect be noticed only by another
Allomancer, one trying to use hi1s or her powers on Vin? It was the
opposite of aluminum, which made metals disappear. Did that mean
duralumin would make other metals last longer?
Movement.
Vin just barely caught the hint of shadowed motion. At first, a primal bit
of terror rose in her: Was it the misty form, the ghost in the darkness she
had seen the night before?
You were just seeing things, she told herself forcefully. You were too
tired. And, in truth, the glimmer of motion proved too dark—too real—to
be the same ghostly image.
It was him.
He stood atop one of the watchtowers—not crouching, not even
bothering to hide. Was he arrogant or foolish, this unknown Mistborn? Vin
smiled, her apprehension turning to excitement. She prepared her metals,
checking her reserves. Everything was ready.
Tonight I catch you, my friend.
Vin spun, throwing out a spray of coins. Either the Mistborn knew he'd
been spotted, or he was ready for an attack, for he easily dodged. OreSeur
hopped to his feet, spinning, and Vin whipped her belt free, dropping her
metals.
"Follow if you can," she whispered to the kandra, then sprang into the
darkness after her prey.
The Watcher shot away, bounding through the night. Vin had little
experience chasing another Mistborn; her only real chance to practice had
come during Kelsier's training sessions. She soon found herself struggling
to keep up with the Watcher, and she felt a stab of guilt for what she had
done to OreSeur earlier. She was learning firsthand how difficult it was to
follow a determined Mistborn through the mists. And she didn't have the
advantage of a dog's sense of smell.
She did, however, have tin. It made the night clearer and enhanced her
hearing. With it, she managed to follow the Watcher as he moved toward
the center of the city. Eventually, he let himself drop down toward one of
the central fountain squares. Vin fell as well, hitting the slick cobblestones
with a flare of pewter, then dodging to the side as he threw out a handful of
coins.
Metal rang against stone in the quiet night, coins plinging against statues
and cobblestones. Vin smiled as she landed on all fours; then she bounded
forward, jumping with pewter-enhanced muscles and Pulling one of the
coins up into her hand.
Her opponent leaped backward, landing on the edge of a nearby fountain.
Vin landed, then dropped her coin, using it to throw herself upward over the
Watcher's head. He stooped, watching warily as she passed over him.
Vin caught of one of the bronze statues at the center of the fountain itself
and pulled herself to a stop atop it. She crouched on the uneven footing,
looking down at her opponent. He stood balanced on one foot at the edge of
the fountain, quiet and black in the churning mists. There was a. . .challenge
in his posture.
Can you catch me? he seemed to ask.
Vin whipped her daggers out and jumped free of the statue. She Pushed
herself directly toward the Watcher, using the cool bronze as an anchor.
The Watcher used the statue as well, Pulling himself forward. He shot
just beneath Vin, throwing up a wave of water, his incredible speed letting
him skid like a stone across the fountain's still surface. As he jumped clear
of the water, he Pushed himself away, shooting across the square.
Vin landed on the founta1in lip, chill water spraying across her. She
growled, jumping after the Watcher.
As he landed, he spun and whipped out his own daggers. She rolled
beneath his first attack, then brought her daggers up in a two-handed double
jab. The Watcher jumped quickly out of the way, his daggers sparkling and
dropping beads of fountain water. He had a lithe power about him as he
came to rest in a crouch. His body looked tense and sure. Capable.
Vin smiled again, breathing quickly. She hadn't felt like this since. . .since
those nights so long ago, when she'd sparred with Kelsier. She remained in
a crouch, waiting, watching the mist curl between her and her opponent. He
was of medium height, had a wiry build, and he wore no mistcloak.
Why no cloak? Mistcloaks were the ubiquitous mark of her kind, a
symbol of pride and security.
She was too far away to distinguish his face. She thought she saw a hint
of a smile, however, as he jumped backward and Pushed against another
statue. The chase began again.
Vin followed him through the city, flaring steel, landing on roofs and
streets, Pushing herself in great arcing leaps. The two bounded through
Luthadel like children on a playground—Vin trying to cut off her opponent,
he cleverly managing to stay just a little bit ahead of her.
He was good. Far better than any Mistborn she had known or faced, save
perhaps for Kelsier. However, she'd grown greatly in skill since she'd
sparred with the Survivor. Could this newcomer be even better? The
thought thrilled her. She'd always considered Kelsier a paradigm of
Allomantic ability, and it was easy to forget that he'd had his powers for
only a couple of years before the Collapse.
That's the same amount of time that I've been training, Vin realized as
she landed in a small, cramped street. She frowned, crouching, remaining
still. She'd seen the Watcher fall toward this street.
Narrow and poorly maintained, the street was practically an alleyway,
lined on both sides by three- and four-story buildings. There was no motion
—either the Watcher had slipped away or he was hiding nearby. She burned
iron, but the iron-lines revealed no motion.
However, there was another way. . ..
Vin pretended to still be looking around, but she turned on her bronze,
flaring it, trying to pierce the coppercloud that she thought might be close.
And there he was. Hiding in a room behind the mostly closed shutters of
a derelict building. Now that she knew where to look, she saw the bit of
metal he'd probably used to jump up to the second story, the latch he must
have Pulled on to quickly close the shutters behind him. He'd probably
scouted this street beforehand, always intending to lose her here.
Clever, Vin thought.
He couldn't have anticipated her ability to pierce copperclouds. But,
attacking him now might give away that ability. Vin stood quietly, thinking
of him crouching above, tensely waiting for her to move off.
She smiled. Reaching inside, she examined the duralumin reserve. There
was a possible way to discover if burning it created some change in the way
she looked to another Mistborn. The Watcher was likely burning most of his
metals, trying to determine what her next move would be.
So, thinking herself incredibly clever, Vin burned the fourteenth metal.
A massive explosion sounded in her ears. Vin gasped, dro1pping to her
knees in shock. Everything grew bright around her, as if some crack of
energy had illuminated the entire street. And she felt cold; frigidly,
stunningly cold.
She moaned, trying to make sense of the sound. It. . .it wasn't an
explosion, but many explosions. A rhythmic thudding, like a drum
pounding just beside her. Her heart-beat. And the breeze, loud as a howling
wind. The scratchings of a dog searching for food. Someone snoring in their
sleep. It was as if her hearing had been magnified a hundred times.
And then. . .nothing. Vin fell backward against the cobblestones, the
sudden rush of light, coldness, and sound evaporating. A form moved in the
shadows nearby, but she couldn't make it out—she couldn't see in the
darkness anymore. Her tin was. . .
Gone, she realized, coming to. My entire store of tin has been burned
away. I was. . .burning it, when I turned on the duralumin.
I burned them both at once. That's the secret. The duralumin had burned
away all her tin in a single, massive burst. It had made her senses amazingly
acute for a very short time, but had stolen away her entire reserve. And,
looking, she could see that her bronze and her pewter—the other metals
she'd been burning at the time—were gone as well. The onrush of sensory
information had been so vast that she hadn't noticed the effects of the other
two.
Think about it later, Vin told herself, shaking her head. She felt like she
should be deafened and blinded, but she wasn't. She was just a bit stunned.
The dark form moved up beside her in the mists. She didn't have time to
recover; she pushed herself to her feet, stumbling. The form, it was too
short to be the Watcher. It was. . .
"Mistress, do you require assistance?"
Vin paused as OreSeur padded up to her, then sat on his haunches.
"You. . .managed to follow," Vin said.
"It was not easy, Mistress," OreSeur said flatly. "Do you require
assistance?"
"What? No, no assistance." Vin shook her head, clearing her mind. "I
guess that's one thing I didn't think of by making you a dog. You can't carry
metals for me now."
The kandra cocked his head, then padded over into an alleyway. He
returned a moment later with something in his mouth. Her belt.
He dropped it by her feet, then returned to his waiting position. Vin
picked up the belt, pulling off one of her extra metal vials. "Thank you," she
said slowly. "That is very. . .thoughtful of you."
"I fulfill my Contract, Mistress," the kandra said. "Nothing more."
Well, this is more than you've ever done before, she thought, downing a
vial and feeling her reserves return. She burned tin, restoring her night
vision, releasing a veil of tension from her mind; since she'd discovered her
powers, she'd never had to go out at night in complete darkness.
The shutters of the Watcher's room were open; he had apparently fled
during her fit. Vin sighed.
"Mistress!" OreSeur snapped.
Vin spun. A man landed quietly behind her. He looked. . .familiar, for
some reason. He had a lean face—topped with dark hair—and his head was
cocked slightly in confusion. She could see the question in his eyes. Why
had she fallen down?
Vin smiled. "Maybe I just did it1 to lure you closer," she whispered—
softly, yet loud enough that she knew tin-enhanced ears would hear her.
The Mistborn smiled, then tipped his head to her as if in respect.
"Who are you?" Vin asked, stepping forward.
"An enemy," he replied, holding up a hand to ward her back.
Vin paused. Mist swirled between them on the quiet street. "Why, then,
did you help me fight those assassins?"
"Because," he said. "I'm also insane."
Vin frowned, eyeing the man. She had seen insanity before in the eyes of
beggars. This man was not insane. He stood proudly, eyes controlled as he
regarded her in the darkness.
What kind of game is he playing? she wondered.
Her instincts—a lifetime's worth of instincts—warned her to be wary.
She had only just learned to trust her friends, and she wasn't about to offer
the same privilege to a man she had met in the night.
And yet, it had been over a year since she'd spoken with another
Mistborn. There were conflicts within her that she couldn't explain to the
others. Even Mistings, like Ham and Breeze, couldn't understand the
strange dual life of a Mistborn. Part assassin, part bodyguard, part
noblewoman. . .part confused, quiet girl. Did this man have similar troubles
with his identity?
Perhaps she could make an ally out of him, bringing a second Mistborn
to the defense of the Central Dominance. Even if she couldn't, she certainly
couldn't afford to fight him. A spar in the night was one thing, but if their
contest grew dangerous, atium might come into play.
If that happened, she'd lose.
The Watcher studied her with a careful eye. "Answer something for me,"
he said in the mists.
Vin nodded.
"Did you really kill Him?"
"Yes," Vin whispered. There was only one person he could mean.
He nodded slowly. "Why do you play their games?"
"Whose games?"
The Watcher gestured into the mists, toward Keep Venture.
"Those aren't games," Vin said. "It's no game when the people I love are
in danger."
The Watcher stood quietly, then shook his head, as if. . .disappointed.
Then, he pulled something from his sash.
Vin jumped back immediately. The Watcher, however, simply flipped a
coin to the ground between them. It bounced a couple of times, coming to a
rest on the cobbles. Then, the Watcher Pushed himself backward into the
air.
Vin didn't follow. She reached up, rubbing her head; she still felt like she
should have a headache.
"You're letting him go?" OreSeur asked.
Vin nodded. "We're done for tonight. He fought well."
"You sound almost respectful," the kandra said.
Vin turned, frowning at the hint of disgust in the kandra's voice. OreSeur
sat patiently, displaying no further emotion.
She sighed, tying her belt around her waist. "We're going to need to come
up with a harness or something for you," she said. "I want you to carry extra
metal vials for me, like you 1did as a human."
"A harness won't be necessary, Mistress," OreSeur said.
"Oh?"
OreSeur rose, padding forward. "Please get out one of your vials."
Vin did as requested, pulling out a small glass vial. OreSeur stopped, then
turned one shoulder toward her. As she watched, the fur parted and the flesh
itself split, showing forth veins and layers of skin. Vin pulled back a bit.
"There is no need to be worried, Mistress," OreSeur said. "My flesh is
not like your own. I have more. . .control over it, you might say. Place the
metal vial inside my shoulder."
Vin did as asked. The flesh sealed around the vial, obscuring it from
view. Experimentally, Vin burned iron. No blue lines appeared pointing
toward the hidden vial. Metal inside of a person's stomach couldn't be
affected by another Allomancer; indeed, metal piercing a body, like
Inquisitor spikes or Vin's own earring, couldn't be Pushed or Pulled by
someone else. Apparently, the same rule applied to metals hidden within a
kandra.
"I will deliver this to you in an emergency," OreSeur said.
"Thank you," Vin said.
"The Contract, Mistress. Do not give me thanks. I do only what I am
required."
Vin nodded slowly. "Let's go back to the palace, then," she said. "I want
to check on Elend."
But, let me begin at the beginning. I met Alendi first in Khlennium; he
was a young lad then, and had not yet been warped by a decade spent
leading armies.
9
MARSH HAD CHANGED. THERE WAS something. . .harder about the
former Seeker. Something in the way he always seemed to be staring at
things Sazed couldn't see, something in his blunt responses and terse
language.
Of course, Marsh had always been a straightforward man. Sazed eyed his
friend as the two strode down the dusty highway. They had no horses; even
if Sazed had possessed one, most beasts wouldn't go near an Inquisitor.
What did Spook say that Marsh's nickname was? Sazed thought to
himself as they walked. Before his transformation, they used to call him. .
.Ironeyes. The name that had turned out to be chillingly prophetic. Most of
the others found Marsh's transformed state discomforting, and had left him
isolated. Though Marsh hadn't seemed to mind the treatment, Sazed had
made a special effort to befriend the man.
He still didn't know if Marsh appreciated the gesture or not. They did
seem to get along well; both shared an interest in scholarship and history,
and both were interested in the religious climate of the Final Empire.
And, he did come looking for me, Sazed thought. Of course, he did claim
that he wanted help in case the Inquisitors weren't all gone from the
Conventical of Seran. It was a weak excuse. Despite his powers as a
Feruchemist, Sazed was no warrior.
"You should be in Luthadel," Marsh said.
Sazed looked up. Marsh had spoken bluntly, as usual, without preamble.
"Why do you say that?" Sazed asked.
"They need you there."
"The rest of the Final Empire has need of me too, Marsh. I am a Keeper
—one group of people should not be able to monopolize al1l of my time."
Marsh shook his head. "These peasants, they will forget your passing. No
one will forget the things that will soon happen in the Central Dominance."
"You would be surprised, I think, at what men can forget. Wars and
kingdoms may seem important now, but even the Final Empire proved
mortal. Now that it has fallen, the Keepers have no business being involved
in politics." Most would say we never had any business being involved in
politics at all.
Marsh turned toward him. Those eyes, sockets filled entirely with steel.
Sazed did not shiver, but he felt distinctly uncomfortable.
"And your friends?" Marsh asked.
This touched on something more personal. Sazed looked away, thinking
of Vin, and of his vow to Kelsier that he would protect her. She needs little
protection now, he thought. She's grown more adept at Allomancy than even
Kelsier was. And yet, Sazed knew that there were modes of protection that
didn't relate to fighting. These thingsâ”upport, counsel, kindnessâ”ere vital
to every person, and most especially to Vin. So much rested on that poor
girl's shoulders.
"I have. . .sent help," Sazed said. "What help I can."
"Not good enough," Marsh said. "The things happening in Luthadel are
too important to ignore."
"I am not ignoring them, Marsh," Sazed said. "I am simply performing
my duty as best I can."
Marsh finally turned away. "The wrong duty. You will return to Luthadel
once we are finished here."
Sazed opened his mouth to argue, but said nothing. What was there to
say? Marsh was right. Though he had no proof, Sazed knew that there were
important things happening in Luthadelâ”hings that would require his aid to
fight. Things that likely affected the future of the entire land once known as
the Final Empire.
So, he closed his mouth and trudged after Marsh. He would return to
Luthadel, proving himself a rebel once again. Perhaps, in the end, he would
realize that there was no ghostly threat facing the worldâ”hat he had simply
returned because of his own selfish desire to be with his friends.
In fact, he hoped that proved to be the truth. The alternative made him
very uncomfortable.
Alendi's height struck me the first time I saw him. Here was a man who
towered over others, a man whoâ”espite his youth and his humble
clothingâ”emanded respect.
10
THE ASSEMBLY HALL WAS in the former Steel Ministry Canton of
Finance headquarters. It was a low-ceilinged space, more of a large lecture
room than an assembly hall. There were rows of benches fanning out in
front of a raised stage. On the right side of the stage, Elend had constructed
a tier of seats for the Assembly members. On the left of the stage, he had
constructed a single lectern for speakers.
The lectern faced the Assemblymen, not the crowd. The common people
were, however, encouraged to attend. Elend thought that everyone should
be interested in the workings of their government; it pained him that the
Assembly's weekly meetings usually had a small audience.
Vin's seat was on the stage, but at the back, directly opposite the
audience. From her vantage with the other bodyguards, she would look past
the lectern toward the crowd. Another row of Ham's guardsâ”n regular
clothingâ”at in the first row of the audience, providing a first line of
protection. Elend had balked at Vin's demands to having guards both in
front of the stage and behind itâ”e thought that bodyguards sitting right
behind the speakers would be distracting. Ham and Vin, however, had
insisted. If Elend was going to stand up in front of a crowd every week, Vin
wanted to be certain she could keep a close eye on himâ”nd on those
watching him.
Getting to her chair, therefore, required Vin to walk across the stage.
Stares followed her. Some of the watching crowd were interested in the
scandal; they assumed that she was Elend's mistress, and a king sleeping
with his personal assassin made for good gossip. Others were interested in
the politics; they wondered how much influence Vin had over Elend, and
whether they could use her to get the king's ear. Still others were curious
about the growing legends; they wondered if a girl like Vin could really
have slain the Lord Ruler.
Vin hurried her pace. She passed the Assemblymen and found her seat
next to Ham, whoâ”espite the formal occasionâ”till wore a simple vest with
no shirt. Sitting next to him in her trousers and shirt, Vin didn't feel quite so
out of place.
Ham smiled, clapping her affectionately on the shoulder. She had to force
herself not to jump at the touch. It wasn't that she disliked Hamâ”uite the
opposite, actually. She loved him as she did all of the former members of
Kelsier's band. It was just that. . .well, she had trouble explaining it, even to
herself. Ham's innocent gesture made her want to squirm. It seemed to her
that people shouldn't be so casual with the way that they touched others.
She pushed those thoughts away. She had to learn to be like other people.
Elend deserved a woman who was normal.
He was already there. He nodded to Vin as he noticed her arrival, and she
smiled. Then he turned back to speaking quietly with Lord Penrod, one of
the noblemen in the Assembly.
"Elend will be happy," Vin whispered. "Place is packed."
"They're worried," Ham said quietly. "And worried people pay more
attention to things like this. Can't say I'm happyâ”ll these people make our
job harder."
Vin nodded, scanning the audience. The crowd was a strangely mixed
oneâ” collection of different groups who would never have met together
during the days of the Final Empire. A major part were noblemen, of
course. Vin frowned, thinking of how often various members of the nobility
tried to manipulate Elend, and of the promises he made to them. . ..
"What's that look for?" Ham asked, nudging her.
Vin eyed the Thug. Expectant eyes twinkled in his firm, rectangular face.
Ham had an almost supernatural sense when it came to arguments.
Vin sighed. "I don't know about this, Ham."
"This?"
"This," Vin said quietly, waving her hand at the Assembly. "Elend tries so
hard to make everyone happy. He gives so much awayâ”is power, his
money. . .."
"He just wants to see that everyone is treated fairly."
"It's more than that, Ham," Vin said. "It's like he's determined to make
everyone a nobleman."
"Would that be such a bad thing?"
"If everyone is a nobleman, then there is no such thing as a nobleman.
Everyone can't be rich, and everyone can't be in charge. That's just not the
way things work."
"Perhaps," Ham said thoughtfully. "But, doesn't Elend have a civic duty
to try and make sure justice is served?"
Civic duty? Vin thought. I should have known better than to talk to Ham
about something like this. . ..
Vin looked down. "I just think he could see that everyone was treated
well without having an Assembly. All they do is argue and try to take his
power away. And he lets them."
Ham let the discussion die, and Vin turned back to her study of the
audience. It appeared that a large group of mill workers had arrived first and
managed to get the best seats. Early in the Assembly's history—perhaps ten
months before—the nobility had sent servants to reserve seats for them, or
had bribed people to give up their places. As soon as Elend had discovered
this, however, he had forbidden both practices.
Other than the noblemen and the mill workers, there was a large number
of the "new" class. Skaa merchants and craftsmasters, now allowed to set
their own prices for their services. They were the true winners in Elend's
economy. Beneath the Lord Ruler's oppressive hand, only the few most
extraordinarily skilled skaa had been able to rise to positions of even
moderate comfort. Without those restrictions, these same people had
quickly proven to have abilities and acumen far above their noble
counterparts'. They represented a faction in the Assembly at least as
powerful as that of the nobility.
Other skaa peppered the crowd. They looked much the same as they had
before Elend's rise to power. While noblemen generally wore suits—
complete with dayhats and coats—these skaa wore simple trousers. Some of
them were still dirty from their day's labor, their clothing old, worn, and
stained with ash.
And yet. . .there was something different about them. It wasn't in their
clothing, but their postures. They sat a little straighter, their heads held a
little higher. And they had enough free time to attend an Assembly meeting.
Elend finally stood to begin the meeting. He had let his attendants dress
him this morning, and the result was attire that was almost completely free
of dishevelment. His suit fit well, all the buttons were done up, and his vest
was of an appropriate dark blue. His hair was even neatly styled, the short,
brown curls lying flat.
Normally, Elend would begin the meeting by calling on other speakers,
Assemblymen who would drone on for hours about various topics like
taxation rates or city sanitation. However, this day, there were more
pressing matters.
"Gentlemen," Elend said. "I beg your leave to depart from our usual
agenda this afternoon, in the light of our current. . .state of city affairs."
The group of twenty-four Assemblymen nodded, a few muttering things
under their breath. Elend ignored them. He was comfortable before crowds,
far more comfortable than Vin would ever be. As he unrolled his speech,
Vin kept one eye on the crowd, watching for reactions or problems.
"The dire nature of our situation should be quite obvious," Elend said,
beginning the speech he had prepared earlier. "We face a danger that this
city has never known. Invasion and siege from an outside tyrant.
"We are a new nation, a kingdom founded on principles unknown during
the days of the Lord Ruler. Yet, we are already a kingdom of tradition.
Freedom for the skaa. Rule by our own choice and of our own design.
Noblemen who don't have to cower before the Lord Ruler's obligators and
Inquisitors.
"Gentlemen, one year is not enough. We have tasted freedom, and we
need time to savor it. During the last month, we have frequently discussed
and argued regarding what to do should this day arrive. Obviously, we are
of many minds on the issue. Therefore, I ask for a vote of solidarity. Let us
promise ourselves, and these people, that we will not give this city over to a
foreign power without due consideration. Let us resolve to gather more
information, to seek for other avenues, and even to fight should it be
deemed necessary."
The speech went on, but Vin had heard it a dozen times as Elend
practiced it. As he spoke, she found herself eying the crowd. She was most
worried about the obligators she saw sitting in the back. They showed little
reaction to the negative light in which Elend's remarks cast them.
She'd never understood why Elend allowed the Steel Ministry to continue
teaching. It was the last real remnant of the Lord Ruler's power. Most
obligators obstinately refused to lend their knowledge of bureaucracy and
administration to Elend's government, and they still regarded skaa with
contempt.
And yet, Elend let them remain. He maintained a strict rule that they
were not allowed to incite rebellion or violence. However, he also didn't
eject them from the city, as Vin had suggested. Actually, if the choice had
been solely hers, she probably would have executed them.
Eventually, Elend's speech drew to a close, and Vin turned her attention
back to him. "Gentlemen," he said, "I make this proposal out of faith, and I
make it in the names of those we represent. I ask for time. I propose that we
forgo all votes regarding the future of the city until a proper royal
delegation has been allowed to meet with the army outside and determine
what, if any, opportunity there is for negotiations."
He lowered his sheet, looking up, waiting for comments.
"So," said Philen, one of the merchants on the Assembly. "You're asking
us to give you the power to decide the city's fate." Philen wore his rich suit
so well that an observer would never have known that he'd first put one on
about a year ago.
"What?" Elend asked. "I said nothing of the sort—I'm simply asking for
more time. To meet with Straff."
"He's rejected all of our earlier messages," said another Assemblyman.
"What makes you think he'll listen now?"
"We're approaching this wrong!" said one of the noble representatives.
"We should be resolving to beg Straff Venture not to attack, not resolving to
meet with him and chat. We need to establish quickly that we're willing to
work with him. You've all seen that army. He's planning to destroy us!"
"Please," Elend said, raising a hand. "Let us stay on topic!"
One of the other Assemblymen—one of the skaa—spoke up, as if he
hadn't heard Elend. "You say that because you're noble," he said, pointing at
the noble Elend had interrupted. "It's easy for you to talk about working
with Straff, since you've got very little to lose!"
"Very little to lose?" the nobleman said. "I and all of my house could be
executed for supporting Elend against his father!"
"Bah," said one of the merchants. "This is all pointless. We should have
hired mercenaries months ago, as I'd suggested."
"And where would we have gotten the funds for that?" asked Lord
Penrod, senior of the noble Assemblymen.
"Taxes," the merchant 1said with a wave of his hand.
"Gentlemen!" Elend said; then, louder, "Gentlemen!"
This garnered him some small measure of attention.
"We have to make a decision," Elend said. "Stay focused, if you please.
What of my proposal?"
"It's pointless," said Philen the merchant. "Why should we wait? Let's
just invite Straff into the city and be done. He's going to take it anyway."
Vin sat back as the men began to argue again. The problem was, the
merchant Philen—as little as she liked him—had a point. Fighting was
looking like a very unattractive option. Straff had such a large army. Would
stalling really do that much good?
"Look, see," Elend said, trying to get their attention again—and only
partially succeeding. "Straff is my father. Maybe I could talk to him. Get
him to listen? Luthadel was his home for years. Perhaps I can convince him
not to attack it."
"Wait," said one of the skaa representatives. "What of the food issue?
Have you seen what the merchants are charging for grain? Before we worry
about that army, we should talk about bringing prices down."
"Always blaming us for your problems," one of the merchant
Assemblymen said, pointing. And the squabbling began again. Elend
slumped just slightly behind the lectern. Vin shook her head, feeling sorry
for Elend as the discussion degenerated. This was what often happened at
Assembly meetings; it seemed to her that they simply didn't give Elend the
respect he deserved. Perhaps that was his own fault, for elevating them to
his near equals.
Finally, the discussion wound down, and Elend got out a piece of paper,
obviously planning to record the vote on his proposal. He did not look
optimistic.
"All right," Elend said. "Let's vote. Please remember—giving me time
will not play our hand. It will simply give me a chance to try and make my
father reconsider his desire to take our city away from us."
"Elend, lad," said Lord Penrod. "We all lived here during the Lord Ruler's
reign. We all know what kind of man your father is. If he wants this city, he
is going to take it. All we can decide, then, is how to best give up. Perhaps
we can find a way for the people to retain some freedom under his rule."
The group sat quietly, and for the first time nobody brought up a new
squabble. A few of them turned toward Penrod, who sat with a calm, incontrol expression. Vin knew little of the man. He was one of the more
powerful noblemen who had remained in the city after the Collapse, and he
was politically conservative. However, she had never heard him speak
derogatively of the skaa, which was probably why he was so popular with
the people.
"I speak bluntly," Penrod said, "for it is the truth. We are not in a position
to bargain."
"I agree with Penrod," Philen said, jumping in. "If Elend wants to meet
with Straff Venture, then I guess that's his right. As I understand it, kingship
grants him authority to negotiate with foreign monarchs. However, we don't
have to promise not to give Straff the city."
"Master Philen," Lord Penrod said. "I think you misjudged my intent. I
said that giving up the city was inevitable—but that we should try to gain as
much from it as possible. That means at least meeting with Straff to assess
his disposition. Voting to give him the city now would be to play our hand
too soon."
Elend looked up, lo1oking hopeful for the first time since the discussion
had first degenerated. "So, you support my proposal?" he asked.
"It is an awkward way to achieve the pause I think necessary," Penrod
said. "But. . .seeing as how the army is already here, then I doubt we have
time for anything else. So, yes, Your Majesty. I support your proposal."
Several other members of the Assembly nodded as Penrod spoke, as if
giving the proposal consideration for the first time. That Penrod has too
much power, Vin thought, eyes narrowing as she regarded the elderly
statesman. They listen to him more than they do Elend.
"Should we vote, then?" one of the other Assemblymen asked.
And they did. Elend recorded votes as they moved down the line of
Assemblymen. The eight noblemen—seven plus Elend—voted for the
proposal, giving Penrod's opinion a great deal of weight. The eight skaa
were mostly for it, and the merchants mostly against it. In the end, however,
Elend got the two-thirds vote he needed.
"Proposal accepted," Elend said, making the final tally, looking a bit
surprised. "The Assembly divests itself of the right to surrender the city
until after the king has met with Straff Venture in official parlay."
Vin sat back in her seat, trying to decide what she thought of the vote. It
was good that Elend had gotten his way, but the manner in which he'd
achieved it bothered her.
Elend finally relinquished the lectern, sitting and letting a disgruntled
Philen take the lead. The merchant read a proposal calling for a vote to turn
control of city food stockpiles over to the merchants. However, this time
Elend himself led the dissent, and the arguing began again. Vin watched
with interest. Did Elend even realize how much like the others he acted
while he was arguing against their proposals?
Elend and a few of the skaa Assemblymen managed to filibuster long
enough that the lunch break arrived with no vote cast. The people in the
audience stood, stretching, and Ham turned toward her. "Good meeting,
eh?"
Vin just shrugged.
Ham chuckled. "We really have to do something about your ambivalence
toward civic duty, kid."
"I already overthrew one government," Vin said. "I figure that takes care
of my 'civic duty' for a while."
Ham smiled, though he kept a wary eye on the crowd—as did Vin. Now,
with everyone moving about, would be the perfect time for an attempt on
Elend's life. One person in particular caught her attention, and she frowned.
"Be back in a few seconds," she said to Ham, rising.
"You did the right thing, Lord Penrod," Elend said, standing beside the
older nobleman, whispering quietly as break proceeded. "We need more
time. You know what my father will do to this city if he takes it."
Lord Penrod shook his head. "I didn't do this for you, son. I did it because
I wanted to make certain that fool Philen didn't hand the city over before the
nobility extracted promises from your father about our rights to title."
"Now, see," Elend said, holding up a finger. "There has to be another
way! The Survivor would never have given this city away without a fight."
Penrod frowned, and Elend paused, quietly cursing himself. The old lord
was a traditionalist—quoting the Survivor at him would have little positive
effect. Many of the noblemen felt threatened by K1elsier's influence with
the skaa.
"Just think about it," Elend said, glancing to the side as Vin approached.
She waved him away from the Assemblymen seats, and he excused himself.
He crossed the stage, joining her. "What is it?" he asked quietly.
"Woman at the back," Vin said quietly, eyes suspicious. "Tall one, in the
blue."
The woman in question wasn't hard to find; she wore a bright blue blouse
and colorful red skirt. She was middle-aged, of lean build, and had her
waist-length hair pulled back in a braid. She waited patiently as people
moved about the room.
"What about her?" Elend asked.
"Terris," Vin said.
Elend paused. "You're sure?"
Vin nodded. "Those colors. . .that much jewelry. She's a Terriswoman for
sure."
"So?"
"So, I've never met her," Vin said. "And she was watching you, just now."
"People watch me, Vin," Elend noted. "I am the king, after all. Besides,
why should you have met her?"
"All of the other Terris people have come to meet me right after they
enter the city," Vin said. "I killed the Lord Ruler; they see me as the one that
freed their homeland. But, I don't recognize her. She hasn't ever come thank
me."
Elend rolled his eyes, grabbing Vin by the shoulders and turning her
away from the woman. "Vin, I feel it's my gentlemanly duty to tell you
something."
Vin frowned. "What?"
"You're gorgeous."
Vin paused. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Absolutely nothing," Elend said with a smile. "I'm just trying to distract
you."
Slowly, Vin relaxed, smiling slightly.
"I don't know if anyone's ever told you this, Vin," Elend noted, "but you
can be a bit paranoid at times."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. Now, I happen to find it rather
charming, but do you honestly think that a Terriswoman would try to kill
me?"
"Probably not," Vin admitted. "But, old habits. . ."
Elend smiled. Then, he glanced back at the Assemblymen, most of whom
were speaking quietly in groups. They didn't mix. Noblemen spoke with
noblemen, merchants with merchants, skaa workers with other skaa
workers. They seemed so fragmented, so obstinate. The simplest proposals
sometimes met with arguments that could take hours.
They need to give me more time! he thought. Yet, even as he thought, he
realized the problem. More time for what? Penrod and Philen had
accurately attacked his proposal.
The truth was, the entire city was in over its head. Nobody really knew
what to do about a superior invading force, least of all Elend. He just knew
that they couldn't give up. Not yet. There had to be a way to fight.
Vin was still looking to the side, out over the audience. Elend followed
her gaze. "Still watching that Terriswoman?"
Vin shook her head. "Something else. . .something odd. Is that one of
Clubs's messengers?"
Elend paused, turning. Indeed, several soldiers were working their way
through the crowd, approaching the stage. At the back of the room, people
had begun whispering and shuffling, and some were already moving
quickly out of the chamber.
Elend felt Vin stiffen in anxiety, and fear stabbed him. We're too late. The
army has attacked.
One of the soldiers finally reached the stage, and Elend rushed over.
"What?" he asked. "Has Straff attacked?"
The soldier frowned, looking concerned. "No, my lord."
Elend sighed slightly. "What, then?"
"My lord, it's a second army. It just arrived outside the city."
Oddly, it was Alendi's simple ingenuousness that first led me to befriend
him. I employed him as an assistant during his first months in the grand
city.
11
FOR THE SECOND TIME IN two days, Elend stood atop the Luthadel
city wall, studying an army that had come to invade his kingdom. Elend
squinted against the red afternoon sunlight, but he was no Tineye; he
couldn't make out details about the new arrival.
"Any chance they're here to help us?" Elend asked hopefully, looking
toward Clubs, who stood beside him.
Clubs just scowled. "They fly Cett's banner. Remember him? Guy who
sent eight Allomancer assassins to kill you two days back?"
Elend shivered in the chill autumn weather, glancing back out over the
second army. It was making camp a good distance from Straff's army, close
to the Luth-Davn Canal, which ran out the west side of the River Channerel.
Vin stood at Elend's side, though Ham was off organizing things among the
city guard. OreSeur, wearing the wolfhound's body, sat patiently on the wall
walk beneath Vin.
"How did we miss their approach?" Elend asked.
"Straff," Clubs said. "This Cett came in from the same direction, and our
scouts were focused on him. Straff probably knew about this other army a
few days ago, but we had virtually no chance of seeing them."
Elend nodded.
"Straff is setting up a perimeter of soldiers, watching the enemy army,"
Vin said. "I doubt they're friendly to each other." She stood atop one of the
sawtooth parapet crenels, feet positioned dangerously close to the wall's
edge.
"Maybe they'll attack each other," Elend said hopefully.
Clubs snorted. "I doubt it. They're too evenly matched, though Straff
might be a little stronger. I doubt Cett would take the chance by attacking
him."
"Why come, then?" Elend asked.
Clubs shrugged. "Maybe he hoped he'd beat Venture to Luthadel, and get
to take it first."
He spoke of the event—the capture of Luthadel—as if it were a given.
Elend's stomach twisted as he leaned against the battlement, looking out
through a merlon. Vin and the others were thieves and skaa Allomancers—
outcasts who had been hunted for most of their lives. Perhaps they were
accustomed to dealing with this pressure—this fear—but Elend was not.
How did they live with the lack of control, the sense of inevitability?
Elend felt powerless. What could he do? Flee, and leave the city to fend for
itself? That, of course, was not an option. But, confron1ted with not one,
but two armies preparing to destroy his city and take his throne, Elend
found it hard to keep his hands steady as he gripped the rough stone of the
battlement.
Kelsier would have found a way out of this, he thought.
"There!" Vin's voice interrupted Elend's thoughts. "What's that?"
Elend turned. Vin was squinting, looking toward Cett's army, using tin to
see things that were invisible to Elend's mundane eyes.
"Someone's leaving the army," Vin said. "Riding on horseback."
"Messenger?" Clubs asked.
"Maybe," Vin said. "He's riding pretty fast. . .." She began to run from
one stone tooth to the next, moving along the wall. Her kandra immediately
followed, padding quietly across the wall beneath her.
Elend glanced at Clubs, who shrugged, and they began to follow. They
caught up with Vin standing on the wall near one of the towers, watching
the oncoming rider. Or, at least, Elend assumed that was what she watched
—he still couldn't see what she had.
Allomancy, Elend thought, shaking his head. Why couldn't he have at
least ended up with one power—even one of the weaker ones, like copper
or iron?
Vin cursed suddenly, standing up straight. "Elend, that's Breeze!"
"What!" Elend said. "Are you sure?"
"Yes! He's being chased. Archers on horseback."
Clubs cursed, waving to a messenger. "Send riders! Cut off his pursuit!"
The messenger dashed away. Vin, however, shook her head. "They won't
make it in time," she said, almost to herself. "The archers will catch him, or
at least shoot him. Even I couldn't get there fast enough, not running. But,
maybe. . ."
Elend frowned, looking up at her. "Vin, that's way too far to jump—even
for you."
Vin glanced at him, smiled, then leaped off the wall.
Vin readied the fourteenth metal, duralumin. She had a reserve, but she
didn't burn it—not yet. I hope this works, she thought, seeking an
appropriate anchor. The tower beside her had a reinforced iron bulwark on
the top—that would work.
She Pulled on the bulwark, yanking herself up to the top of the tower.
She immediately jumped again, Pushing herself up and out, angling into the
air away from the wall. She extinguished all of her metals except for steel
and pewter.
Then, still Pushing against the bulwark, she burned duralumin.
A sudden force smashed against her. It was so powerful, she was certain
that only an equally powerful flash of pewter held her body together. She
blasted away from the keep, hurtling through the sky as if tossed by some
giant, invisible god. The air rushed by so quickly that it roared, and the
pressure of sudden acceleration made it difficult to think.
She floundered, trying to regain control. She had, fortunately, picked her
trajectory well: she was shooting right toward Breeze and his pursuers.
Whatever Breeze had done, it had been enough to make someone extremely
angry—for there were a full two dozen men charging after him, arrows
nocked.
Vin fell, her steel and pewter completely burned away in that single
duralumin-fueled flash of power. She grabbed a metal vial off her belt,
downing its contents1. However, as she tossed the vial away, she suddenly
felt an odd sense of vertigo. She wasn't accustomed to jumping during the
day. It was strange to see the ground coming at her, strange not to have a
mistcloak flapping behind her, strange not to have the mist. . ..
The lead rider lowered his bow, taking sight at Breeze. Neither appeared
to have noticed Vin, swooping down like a bird of prey above.
Well, not exactly swooping. Plummeting.
Suddenly snapped back to the moment, Vin burned pewter and threw a
coin toward the quickly approaching ground. She Pushed against the coin,
using it to slow her momentum and to nudge her to the side. She hit right
between Breeze and the archers, landing with a jarring crash, throwing up
dust and dirt.
The archer released his arrow.
Even as Vin rebounded, dirt spraying around her, she reached out and
Pushed herself back into the air straight at the arrow. Then she Pushed
against it. The arrowhead ripped backward—throwing out shards of wood
as it split its own shaft in midair—then smacked directly into the forehead
of the archer who had released it.
The man toppled from his mount. Vin landed from her rebound. She
reached out, Pushing against the horseshoes of the two beasts behind the
leader, causing the animals to stumble. The Push threw Vin backward into
the air, and cries of equine pain sounded amid the crash of bodies hitting the
ground.
Vin continued to Push, flying along the road just a few feet above the
ground, quickly catching up with Breeze. The portly man turned in shock,
obviously stunned to find Vin hanging in the air beside his galloping horse,
her clothing flapping in the wind of her passage. She winked at him, then
reached out and Pulled against the armor of another rider.
She immediately lurched in the air. Her body protested the sudden shift in
momentum, but she ignored the twist of pain. The man she Pulled against
managed to stay in his saddle—until Vin smashed into him feet-first,
throwing him backward.
She landed on the black earth, the rider tumbling to the ground beside
her. A short distance away, the remaining riders finally reined in their
mounts, coming to an abrupt stop a few feet away.
Kelsier probably would have attacked. There were a lot of them, true, but
they were wearing armor and their horses were shod. Vin, however, was not
Kelsier. She had delayed the riders long enough for Breeze to get away.
That was enough.
Vin reached out and Pushed against one of the soldiers, throwing herself
backward, leaving the riders to gather their wounded. The soldiers,
however, promptly pulled out stone-tipped arrows and nocked their bows.
Vin hissed in frustration as the group took sight. Well, friends, she
thought, I suggest that you hang on tightly.
She Pushed slightly against them all, then burned duralumin. The sudden
crash of force was expected—the wrench in her chest, the massive flare in
her stomach, the howling wind. What she didn't expect was the effect she'd
have on her anchors. The blast of power scattered men and horses, throwing
them into the air like leaves in the wind.
I'm going to have to be very careful with this, Vin thought, gritting her
teeth and spinning herself in the air. Her steel and pewter were gone again,
and she was forced to down her last metal vial. She'd have to start carrying
more of those.
She hit the ground running, pew1ter keeping her from tripping despite
her terrific speed. She slowed just slightly, letting the mounted Breeze catch
up to her, then increased her pace to keep up with him. She dashed like a
sprinter, letting pewter's strength and balance keep her upright as she paced
the tiring horse. The beast eyed her as they ran, seeming to display a hint of
animal frustration to see a human matching it.
They reached the city a few moments later. Breeze reined in as the doors
to Iron Gate began to open, but, rather than wait, Vin simply threw down a
coin and Pushed, letting her forward momentum carry her toward the walls.
As the gates swung open, she Pushed against their studs, and this second
Push sent her sailing straight up. She just barely crested the battlements—
passing between a pair of startled soldiers—before dropping over the other
side. She landed in the courtyard, steadying herself with one hand against
the cool stones, as Breeze entered through the gate.
Vin stood. Breeze patted his forehead with a handkerchief as he trotted
his animal up beside her. He'd let his hair grow longer since she'd last seen
him, and he kept it slicked back, its lower edges tickling his collar. It wasn't
graying yet, though he was in his mid-forties. He wore no hat—it had
probably blown free—but he had on one of his rich suits and silken vests.
They were powdered with black ash from his hurried ride.
"Ah, Vin, my dear," Breeze said, breathing almost as deeply as his horse.
"I must say, that was a timely arrival on your part. Impressively flamboyant
as well. I do hate to force a rescue—but, well, if one is necessary, then it
might as well happen with style."
Vin smiled as he climbed down from the horse—proving he was hardly
the most adroit man in the square—and stablehands arrived to care for the
beast. Breeze wiped his brow again as Elend, Clubs, and OreSeur
scrambled down the steps to the courtyard. One of the aides must have
finally found Ham, for he ran up through the courtyard.
"Breeze!" Elend said, approaching and clasping arms with the shorter
man.
"Your Majesty," Breeze said. "You are in good health and good humor, I
assume?"
"Health, yes," Elend said. "Humor. . .well, there is an army crouching just
outside my city."
"Two armies, actually," Clubs grumbled as he hobbled up.
Breeze folded up his handkerchief. "Ah, and dear Master Cladent.
Optimistic as always, I see."
Clubs snorted. To the side, OreSeur padded up to sit next to Vin.
"And Hammond," Breeze said, eyeing Ham, who was smiling broadly.
"I'd almost managed to delude myself into forgetting that you would be here
when I returned."
"Admit it," Ham said. "You're glad to see me."
"See you, perhaps. Hear you, never. I had grown quite fond of my time
spent away from your perpetual, pseudo-philosophical pratterings."
Ham just smiled a little broader.
"I'm glad to see you, Breeze," Elend said. "But your timing could have
been a little better. I was hoping that you would be able to stop some of
these armies from marching on us."
"Stop them?" Breeze asked. "Now, why would I want to do that, my dear
man? I did, after all, just spend three months working to get Cett to march
his army down here."
Elend paused, and Vin frowned to herself, standing just outside the
group1. Breeze looked rather pleased with himself—though that was,
admittedly, rather common for him.
"So. . .Lord Cett's on our side?" Elend asked hopefully.
"Of course not," Breeze said. "He's here to ravage the city and steal your
presumed atium supply."
"You," Vin said. "You're the one who has been spreading the rumors
about the Lord Ruler's atium stash, aren't you?"
"Of course," Breeze said, eyeing Spook as the boy finally arrived at the
gates.
Elend frowned. "But. . .why?"
"Look outside your walls, my dear man," Breeze said. "I knew that your
father was going to march on Luthadel eventually—even my powers of
persuasion wouldn't have been enough to dissuade him. So, I began
spreading rumors in the Western Dominance, then made myself one of Lord
Cett's advisors."
Clubs grunted. "Good plan. Crazy, but good."
"Crazy?" Breeze said. "My mental stability is no issue here, Clubs. The
move was not crazy, but brilliant."
Elend looked confused. "Not to insult your brilliance, Breeze. But. . .how
exactly is bringing a hostile army to our city a good idea?"
"It's basic negotiating strategy, my good man," Breeze explained as a
packman handed him his dueling cane, taken off the horse. Breeze used it to
gesture westward, toward Lord Cett's army. "When there are only two
participants in a negotiation, one is generally stronger than the other. That
makes things very difficult for the weaker party—which, in this case, would
have been us."
"Yes," Elend said, "but with three armies, we're still the weakest."
"Ah," Breeze said, holding up the cane, "but those other two parties are
fairly even in strength. Straff is likely stronger, but Cett has a very large
force. If either of those warlords risks attacking Luthadel, his army will
suffer losses—enough losses that he won't be able to defend himself from
the third army. To attack us is to expose oneself."
"And that makes this a standoff," Clubs said.
"Exactly," Breeze said. "Trust me, Elend my boy. In this case, two large,
enemy armies are far better than a single large, enemy army. In a three-way
negotiation, the weakest party actually has the most power—because his
allegiance added to either of the other two will choose the eventual winner."
Elend frowned. "Breeze, we don't want to give our allegiance to either of
these men."
"I realize that," Breeze said. "However, our opponents do not. By
bringing a second army in, I've given us time to think. Both warlords
thought they could get here first. Now that they've arrived at the same time,
they'll have to reevaluate. I'm guessing we'll end up in an extended siege. A
couple of months at least."
"That doesn't explain how we're going to get rid of them," Elend said.
Breeze shrugged. "I got them here—you get to decide what to do with
them. And I'll tell you, it was no easy task to make Cett arrive on time. He
was due to come in a full five days before Venture. Fortunately, a certain. .
.malady spread through camp a few days ago. Apparently, someone
poisoned the main water supply and gave the entire camp diarrhea."
Spook, standing behind Clubs, snickered.
"Yes," Breeze said, eyeing the boy. "I tho1ught you might appreciate that.
You still an unintelligible nuisance, boy?"
"Wassing the where of not," Spook said, smiling and slipping back into
his Eastern street slang.
Breeze snorted. "You still make more sense than Hammond, half the
time," he mumbled, turning to Elend. "So, isn't anyone going to send for a
carriage to drive me back to the palace? I've been Soothing you ungrateful
lot for the better part of five minutes—looking as tired and pathetic as I can
—and not one of you has had the good graces to pity me!"
"You must be losing your touch," Vin said with a smile. Breeze was a
Soother—an Allomancer who could burn brass to calm another person's
emotions. A very skilled Soother—and Vin knew of none more skilled than
Breeze—could dampen all of a person's emotions but a single one,
effectively making them feel exactly as he wanted.
"Actually," Elend said, turning and looking back up at the wall, "I was
hoping we could go back up on the wall and study the armies some more. If
you spent time with Lord Cett's force, then you could probably tell us a lot
about it."
"I can; I will; I am not going to climb those steps. Can't you see how tired
I am, man?"
Ham snorted, clapping Breeze on the shoulder—and throwing up a puff
of dust. "How can you be tired? Your poor horse did all the running."
"It was emotionally exhausting, Hammond," Breeze said, rapping the
larger man's hand with his cane. "My departure was somewhat
disagreeable."
"What happened, anyway?" Vin asked. "Did Cett find out you were a
spy?"
Breeze looked embarrassed. "Let's just say that Lord Cett and I had a. .
.falling-out."
"Caught you in bed with his daughter, eh?" Ham said, earning a chuckle
from the group. Breeze was anything but a ladies' man. Despite his ability
to play with emotions, he had expressed no interest in romance for as long
as Vin had known him. Dockson had once noted that Breeze was just too
focused on himself to consider such things.
Breeze simply rolled his eyes at Ham's comment. "Honestly, Hammond. I
think your jokes are getting worse as you age. One too many hits on the
head while sparring, I suspect."
Ham smiled, and Elend sent for a couple of carriages. While they waited,
Breeze launched into a narrative of his travels. Vin glanced down at
OreSeur. She still hadn't found a good opportunity to tell the rest of the
crew about the body change. Perhaps now that Breeze was back, Elend
would hold a conference with his inner circle. That would be a good time.
She had to be quiet about it, since she wanted the palace staff to think that
she'd sent OreSeur away.
Breeze continued his story, and Vin looked back at him, smiling. Not
only was Breeze a natural orator, but he had a very subtle touch with
Allomancy. She could barely feel his fingers on her emotions. Once, she
had found his intrusions offensive, but she was growing to understand that
touching people's emotions was simply part of who Breeze was. Just as a
beautiful woman demanded attention by virtue of her face and figure,
Breeze drew it by near unconscious use of his powers.
Of course, that didn't make him any less a scoundrel. Getting others to do
as he wished was one of Breeze's main occupations. Vin just no longer
resented him for using Allomancy to do it.
The carriage finally approached, and Breeze sighed in relief. As the
vehicle pulled up, he eyed Vin, then nodded toward1 OreSeur. "What's
that?"
"A dog," Vin said.
"Ah, blunt as ever, I see," Breeze said. "And, why is it that you now have
a dog?"
"I gave it to her," Elend said. "She wanted one, so I bought it for her."
"And you chose a wolfhound?" Ham asked, amused.
"You've fought with her before, Ham," Elend said, laughing. "What
would you have given her? A poodle?"
Ham chuckled. "No, I guess not. It fits, actually."
"Though it's almost as big as she is," Clubs added, regarding her with a
squinty-eyed look.
Vin reached down, resting her hand on OreSeur's head. Clubs did have a
point; she'd chosen a big animal, even for a wolfhound. He stood over three
feet tall at the shoulder—and Vin knew from experience how heavy that
body was.
"Remarkably well-behaved for a wolfhound," Ham said, nodding. "You
chose well, El."
"Regardless," Breeze said. "Can we please return to the palace? Armies
and wolfhounds are all well and good, but I believe supper is more pressing
at this point."
"So, why didn't we tell them about OreSeur?" Elend asked, as their
carriage bumped its way back toward Keep Venture. The three of them had
taken a carriage of their own, leaving the other four to follow in the other
vehicle.
Vin shrugged. OreSeur sat on the seat across from her and Elend, quietly
watching the conversation. "I'll tell them eventually," Vin said. "A busy city
square didn't seem the right place for the revelation."
Elend smiled. "Keeping secrets is a hard habit to break, eh?"
Vin flushed. "I'm not keeping him secret, I'm just. . ." She trailed off,
looking down.
"Don't feel bad, Vin," Elend said. "You lived a long time on your own,
without anyone to trust. Nobody expects you to change overnight."
"It hasn't been one night, Elend," she said. "It's been two years."
Elend laid a hand on her knee. "You're getting better. The others talk
about how much you've changed."
Vin nodded. Another man would be afraid that I'm keeping secrets from
him, too. Elend just tries to make me feel less guilty. He was a better man
than she deserved.
"Kandra," Elend said, "Vin says you do well at keeping up with her."
"Yes, Your Majesty," OreSeur said. "These bones, though distasteful, are
well equipped for tracking and quick movement."
"And if she gets hurt?" Elend said. "Will you be able to pull her to
safety?"
"Not with any speed, Your Majesty. I will, however, be able to go for aid.
These bones have many limitations, but I will do my best to fulfill the
Contract."
Elend must have caught Vin's raised eyebrow, for he chuckled. "He'll do
as he says, Vin."
"The Contract is everything, Mistress," OreSeur said. "It demands more
than simple service. It requires diligence and devotion. It is the kandra. By
serving it, we serve our people."
Vin shrugged. The group fell silent, Elend pulling a book from his
pocket, Vin leaning against him. OreSeur lay down, filling the entire seat
opposite the humans. Eventu1ally, the carriage rolled into the Venture
courtyard, and Vin found herself looking forward to a warm bath. As they
were climbing from the carriage, however, a guard rushed up to Elend. Tin
allowed Vin to hear what the man said, even though he spoke before she
could close the distance.
"Your Majesty," the guard whispered, "our messenger reached you,
then?"
"No," Elend said with a frown as Vin walked over. The soldier gave her a
look, but continued speaking; the soldiers all knew that Vin was Elend's
primary bodyguard and confidant. Still, the man looked oddly concerned
when he saw her.
"We. . .ah, don't want to be intrusive," the soldier said. "That's why we've
kept this quiet. We were just wondering if. . .everything is all right." He
looked at Vin as he spoke.
"What is this about?" Elend asked.
The guard turned back toward the king. "The corpse in Lady Vin's room."
The "corpse" was actually a skeleton. One completely picked clean,
without a hint of bloodâ”r even tissueâ”arring its shiny white surfaces. A
good number of the bones were broken, however.
"I'm sorry, Mistress," OreSeur said, speaking low enough that only she
could hear. "I assumed that you were going to dispose of these."
Vin nodded. The skeleton was, of course, the one OreSeur had been using
before she gave him the animal body. Finding the door unlockedâ”in's usual
sign that she wanted a room cleanedâ”he maids had entered. Vin had
stashed the bones in a basket, intending to deal with them later. Apparently,
the maids had decided to check and see what was in the basket, and been
somewhat surprised.
"It's all right, Captain," Elend said to the young guardâ”aptain Demoux,
second-in-command of the palace guard. Despite the fact that Ham shunned
uniforms, this man seemed to take great pride in keeping his own uniform
very neat and smart.
"You did well by keeping this quiet," Elend said. "We knew about these
bones already. They aren't a reason for concern."
Demoux nodded. "We figured it was something intentional." He didn't
look at Vin as he spoke.
Intentional, Vin thought. Great. I wonder what this man thinks I did. Few
skaa knew what kandra were, and Demoux wouldn't know what to make of
remains like these.
"Could you dispose of these quietly for me, Captain?" Elend asked,
nodding to the bones.
"Of course, Your Majesty," the guard said.
He probably assumes I ate the person or something, Vin thought with a
sigh. Sucked the flesh right off his bones.
Which, actually, wasn't that far from the truth.
"Your Majesty," Demoux said. "Would you like us to dispose of the other
body as well?"
Vin froze.
"Other one?" Elend asked slowly.
The guard nodded. "When we found this skeleton, we brought in some
dogs to sniff about. The dogs didn't turn up any killers, but they did find
another body. Just like this oneâ” set of bones, completely cleaned of flesh."
Vin and Elend shared a look. "Show us," Elend said.
Demoux nodded, and led them out of the room, giving a few whispered
orders to one of his men. The four of themâ”hree humans and one
kandraâ”raveled a short distance down the palace hallway, toward a less
used section of visitors' chambers. Demoux dismissed a soldier standing at
a particular door, then led them inside.
"This body wasn't in a basket, Your Majesty," Demoux said. "It was
stuffed in a back closet. We'd probably never have found it without the
dogsâ”hey picked up the scent pretty easily, though I can't see how. These
corpses are completely clean of flesh."
And there it was. Another skeleton, like the first, sitting piled beside a
bureau. Elend glanced at Vin, then turned to Demoux. "Would you excuse
us, Captain?"
The young guard nodded, walking from the room and closing the door.
"Well?" Elend said, turning to OreSeur.
"I do not know where this came from," the kandra said.
"But it is another kandra-eaten corpse," Vin said.
"Undoubtedly, Mistress," OreSeur said. "The dogs found it because of the
particular scent our digestive juices leave on recently excreted bones."
Elend and Vin shared a look.
"However," OreSeur said, "it is probably not what you think. This man
was probably killed far from here."
"What do you mean?"
"They are discarded bones, Your Majesty," OreSeur said. "The bones a
kandra leaves behind. . ."
"After he finds a new body," Vin finished.
"Yes, Mistress," OreSeur said.
Vin looked at Elend, who frowned. "How long ago?" he asked. "Maybe
the bones were left a year before, by my father's kandra."
"Perhaps, Your Majesty," OreSeur said. But he sounded hesitant. He
padded over, sniffing at the bones. Vin picked one up herself, holding it to
her nose. With tin, she easily picked out a sharp scent that reminded her of
bile.
"It's very strong," she said, glancing at OreSeur.
He nodded. "These bones haven't been here long, Your Majesty. A few
hours at most. Perhaps even less."
"Which means we have another kandra somewhere in the palace," Elend
said, looking a bit sick. "One of my staff has been. . .eaten and replaced."
"Yes, Your Majesty," OreSeur said. "There is no way to tell from these
bones whom it could be, since these are the discards. The kandra would
have taken the new bones, eating their flesh and wearing their clothing."
Elend nodded, standing. He met Vin's eyes, and she knew he was
thinking the same thing she was. It was possible that a member of the
palace staff had been replaced, which would mean a slight breach in
security. There was a far more dangerous possibility, however.
Kandra were incomparable actors; OreSeur had imitated Lord Renoux so
perfectly that even people who'd known him had been fooled. Such talent
could have been used for the imitation of a maid or a servant. However, if
an enemy had wanted to get a spy into Elend's closed meetings, he would
need to replace a person far more important.
It would be someone that we haven't seen during the last few hours, Vin
thought, dropping the bone. She, Elend, and OreSeur had been on the wall
for most of the afternoon and eveningâ”ver since the end of the Assembly
meetingâ”ut the city and palace had been in chaos since the second army
had arrived. The messengers had had trouble finding Ham, and she still
wasn't certain where Dockson was. In fact, she hadn't seen Clubs until he'd
joined her and Elend on the wall just a bit before. And Spook had been the
last to arrive.
Vin looked down at the pile of bones, feeling a sickening sense of unease.
There was a very good chance that someone in their core team—a member
of Kelsier's former band—was now an impostor.
PART TWO
GHOSTS IN THE MIST
It wasn't until years later that I became convinced that Alendi was the
Hero of Ages. Hero of Ages: the one called Rabzeen in Khlennium, the
Anamnesor.
Savior.
12
A FORTRESS SAT IN THE misty murk of evening.
It rested at the bottom of a large depression in the land. The steep-sided,
craterlike valley was so wide that even in daylight Sazed would barely have
been able to see the other side. In the oncoming darkness, obscured by mist,
the far edge of the massive hole was only a deep shadow.
Sazed knew very little about tactics and strategy; though his metalminds
held dozens of books on the subjects, he had forgotten their contents in
order to create the stored records. The little he did know told him that this
fortress—the Conventical of Seran—was not very defensible. It
relinquished the high ground, and the crater sides would provide an
excellent location for siege engines to pelt rocks down at the walls.
This fortress, however, had not been built to defend against enemy
soldiers. It had been built to provide solitude. The crater made it difficult to
find, for a slight rise in the land around the crater's lip made it practically
invisible until one drew near. No roads or paths marked the way, and
travelers would have great trouble getting down the sheer sides.
The Inquisitors did not want visitors.
"Well?" Marsh asked.
He and Sazed stood on the crater's northern lip, before a drop of several
hundred feet. Sazed tapped his vision tinmind, drawing forth some of the
eyesight he had stored within it. The edges of his vision fuzzed, but things
directly in front of him seemed to grow much closer. He tapped a little more
sight, ignoring the nausea that came from compounding so much vision.
The increased eyesight let him study the Conventical as if he stood
before it. He could see each notch in the dark stone walls—flat, broad,
imposing. He could discern each bit of rust on the large steel plates that
hung bolted into outside stones of the wall. He could see each lichenencrusted corner and ash-stained ledge. There were no windows.
"I do not know," Sazed said slowly, releasing his vision tinmind. "It is not
easy to say whether or not the fortress is inhabited. There is no motion, nor
is there light. But, perhaps the Inquisitors are just hiding inside."
"No," Marsh said, his stiff voice uncomfortably loud in the evening air.
"They are gone."
"Why would they leave? This is a place of great strength, I think. Poor
defense against an army, but a great defense against the chaos of the times."
Marsh shook his head. "They are gone."
"How are you so certain?"
"I do not know."
"Where did they go, then?"
Marsh looked at him, then turned and glanced over his shoulder. "North."
"Toward Luthadel?" Sazed asked, frowning.
"Among other things," Marsh said. "Come. I do not know if they will
return, but we should exploit this opportunity."
Sazed nodded. This was why they had come, after all. Still, a part of him
hesitated. He was a man of books and genteel service. Traveling the
countryside to visit villages was enough removed from his experience to be
discomforting. Infiltrating the Inquisitor stronghold. . .
Marsh obviously didn't care about his companion's inner struggles. The
Inquisitor turned and began to walk along the rim of the crater. Sazed threw
his pack over his shoulder, then followed. They eventually arrived at a
cage-like contraption, obviously meant to be lowered down to the bottom
by ropes and pulleys. The cage sat locked in place at the top ledge, and
Marsh stopped at its side, but did not enter.
"What?" Sazed asked.
"The pulley system," Marsh said. "The cage is meant to be lowered by
men holding it from below."
Sazed nodded, realizing this was true. Marsh stepped forward and threw
a lever. The cage fell. Ropes began to smoke, and pulleys squealed as the
massive cage plummeted toward the chasm floor. A muted crash echoed
against the rocks.
If there is anyone down there, Sazed thought, they now know we're here.
Marsh turned toward him, the heads of his eye-spikes glistening slightly
in the failing sunlight. "Follow however you wish," he said. Then, he tied
off the counterrope and began to climb down the ropes.
Sazed stepped up to the platform's edge, watching Marsh shimmy down
the dangling rope into the shadowed, misty abyss. Then, Sazed knelt and
opened his pack. He unhooked the large metal bracers around his upper and
lower arms—his core copperminds. They contained the memories of a
Keeper, the stored knowledge of centuries past. He reverently placed them
to the side, then pulled a pair of much smaller bracelets—one iron, one
pewter—from the pack. Metalminds for a warrior.
Did Marsh understand how unskilled Sazed was in this area? Amazing
strength did not a warrior make. Regardless, Sazed snapped the two
bracelets around his ankles. Next, he pulled out two rings—tin and copper.
These he slipped on his fingers.
He closed the pack and threw it over his shoulder, then picked up his core
copperminds. He carefully located a good hiding place—a secluded hollow
between two boulders—and slid them inside. Whatever happened below, he
didn't want to risk them being taken and destroyed by the Inquisitors.
In order to fill a coppermind with memories, Sazed had listened to
another Keeper recite his entire collection of histories, facts, and stories.
Sazed had memorized each sentence, then shoved those memories into the
coppermind for later retrieval. Sazed remembered very little of the actual
experience—but he could draw forth any of the books or essays he wished,
placing them back into his mind, gaining the ability to recollect them as
crisply as when he'd first memorized them. He just had to have the bracers
on.
Being without hi1s copperminds made him anxious. He shook his head,
walking back over to the platform. Marsh was moving very quickly down
toward the chasm floor; like all Inquisitors, he had the powers of a
Mistborn. Though how he had gotten those powers—and how he managed
to live despite the spikes that had been driven directly through his brain—
was a mystery. Marsh had never answered Sazed's questions on the subject.
Sazed called down, drawing Marsh's attention, then held up his pack and
dropped it. Marsh reached out, and the pack lurched, Pulled by its metals
into Marsh's hand. The Inquisitor threw it over his shoulder before
continuing his descent.
Sazed nodded thankfully, then stepped off the platform. As he began to
fall, he mentally reached into his ironmind, searching for the power he had
stored therein. Filling a metalmind always had a cost: in order to store up
sight, Sazed had been forced to spend weeks with poor eyesight. During
that time, he had worn a tin bracelet, stowing away the excess sight for later
use.
Iron was a bit different from the others. It didn't store up sight, strength,
endurance—or even memories. It stored something completely different:
weight.
This day, Sazed didn't tap the power stored inside the ironmind; that
would have made him more heavy. Instead, he began to fill the ironmind,
letting it suck away his weight. He felt a familiar sense of lightness—a
sense that his own body wasn't pressing upon itself as forcefully.
His fall slowed. The Terris philosophers had much to say on using an
ironmind. They explained that the power didn't actually change a person's
bulk or size—it just somehow changed the way that the ground pulled
against them. Sazed's fall didn't slow because of his decrease in weight—it
slowed because he suddenly had a relatively large amount of surface
exposed to the wind of his fall, and a lighter body to go along with it.
Regardless of the scientific reasons, Sazed didn't fall as quickly. The thin
metal bracelets on his legs were the heaviest things on his body, and they
kept him pointed feet-downward. He held out his arms and bent his body
slightly, letting the wind push against him. His descent was not terribly
slow—not like that of a leaf or a feather. However, he didn't plummet either.
Instead, he fell in a controlled—almost leisurely—manner. Clothing
flapping, arms outspread, he passed Marsh, who watched with a curious
expression.
As he approached the ground, Sazed tapped his pewtermind, drawing
forth a tiny bit of strength to prepare. He hit the ground—but, because his
body was so light, there was very little shock. He barely even needed to
bend his knees to absorb the force of impact.
He stopped filling the ironmind, released his pewter, and waited quietly
for Marsh. Beside him, the carrying cage lay in shambles. Sazed noticed
several broken iron shackles with discomfort. Apparently, some of those
who had visited the Conventical had not come by choice.
By the time Marsh neared the bottom, the mists were thick in the air.
Sazed had lived with them all of his life, and had never before felt
uncomfortable in them. Yet, now he half expected the mists to begin
choking him. To kill him, as they seemed to have done to old Jed, the
unfortunate farmer whose death Sazed had investigated.
Marsh dropped the last ten feet or so, landing with an Allomancer's
increased agility. Even after spending so much time with Mistborn, Sazed
was impressed with Allomancy's gifts. Of course, he'd never been jealous of
them—not really. True, Allomancy was better in a fight; but it could not
expand the mind, giving one access t1o the dreams, hopes, and beliefs of a
thousand years of culture. It could not give the knowledge to treat a wound,
or help teach a poor village to use modern fertilization techniques. The
metalminds of Feruchemy weren't flamboyant, but they had a far more
lasting value to society.
Besides, Sazed knew a few tricks with Feruchemy that were bound to
surprise even the most prepared warrior.
Marsh handed him the pack. "Come."
Sazed nodded, shouldering the pack and following the Inquisitor across
the rocky ground. Walking next to Marsh was odd, for Sazed wasn't
accustomed to being around people who were as tall as he was. Terrismen
were tall by nature, and Sazed even more so: his arms and legs were a bit
too long for his body, a medical condition brought on by his having been
castrated as a very young boy. Though the Lord Ruler was dead, Terris
culture would long feel the effects of his stewardship and breeding
programs—the methods by which he had tried to breed Feruchemical
powers out of the Terris people.
The Conventical of Seran loomed in the darkness, looking even more
ominous now that Sazed stood within the crater. Marsh strode right up to
the front doors, and Sazed followed behind. He wasn't afraid, not really.
Fear had never been a strong motivator in Sazed's life. However, he did
worry. There were so few Keepers left; if he died, that was one fewer
person who could travel, restoring lost truths and teaching the people.
Not that I'm doing such at the moment anyway. . ..
Marsh regarded the massive steel doors. Then he threw his weight
against one, obviously burning pewter to enhance his strength. Sazed joined
him, pushing hard. The door did not budge.
Regretting the expenditure of power, Sazed reached into his pewtermind
and tapped strength. He used far more than he had when landing, and his
muscles immediately increased in size. Unlike Allomancy, Feruchemy often
had direct effects on a person's body. Beneath his robes, Sazed gained the
bulk and build of a lifetime warrior, easily becoming twice as strong as he
had been a moment earlier. With their combined effort, the two of them
managed to push the door open.
It did not creak. It slid slowly, but evenly, inward, exposing a long, dark
hallway.
Sazed released his pewtermind, reverting to his normal self. Marsh strode
into the Conventical, his feet kicking up the mist that had begun to pour
through the open doorway.
"Marsh?" Sazed asked.
The Inquisitor turned.
"I won't be able to see inside there."
"Your Feruchemy. . ."
Sazed shook his head. "It can let me see better in darkness, but only if
there's some light to begin with. In addition, tapping that much sight would
drain my tinmind in a matter of minutes. I'll need a lantern."
Marsh paused, then nodded. He turned into the darkness, quickly
disappearing from Sazed's view.
So, Sazed thought, Inquisitors don't need light to see. It was to be
expected: the spikes filled Marsh's entire sockets, completely destroying the
eyeballs. Whatever strange power allowed Inquisitors to see, it apparently
worked just as well in pure darkness as it did in daylight.
Marsh returned a few moments later, carrying a lamp. From the chains
Sazed had seen on the descent cage, Sazed suspected that the Inquisitors
had kept a sizable group of1 slaves and servants to attend their needs. If that
was the case, where had the people gone? Had they fled?
Sazed lit the lamp with a flint from his pack. The lamp's ghostly light
illuminated a stark, daunting hallway. He stepped into the Conventical,
holding the lamp high, and began to fill the small copper ring on his finger,
the process transforming it into a coppermind.
"Large rooms," he whispered, "without adornment." He didn't really need
to say the words, but he'd found that speaking helped him form distinct
memories. He could then place them into the coppermind.
"The Inquisitors, obviously, had a fondness for steel," he continued.
"This is not surprising, considering that their religion was often referred to
as the Steel Ministry. The walls are hung with massive steel plates, which
bear no rust, unlike the ones outside. Many of those here are not completely
smooth, but instead crafted with some interesting patterns etched. . .almost
buffed. . .into their surfaces."
Marsh frowned, turning toward him. "What are you doing?"
Sazed held up his right hand, showing the copper ring. "I must make an
account of this visit. I will need to repeat this experience back to other
Keepers when the opportunity presents itself. There is much to be learned
from this place, I think."
Marsh turned away. "You should not care about the Inquisitors. They are
not worthy of your record."
"It isn't a matter of worthiness, Marsh," Sazed said, holding up his lamp
to study a square pillar. "Knowledge of all religions is valuable. I must
make certain these things persist."
Sazed regarded the pillar for a moment, then closed his eyes and formed
an image of it inside his head, which he then added to the coppermind.
Visual memories, however, were less useful than spoken words.
Visualizations faded very quickly once taken out of a coppermind, suffering
from the mind's distortion. Plus, they could not be passed to other Keepers.
Marsh didn't respond to Sazed's comment about religion; he just turned
and walked deeper into the building. Sazed followed at a slower pace,
speaking to himself, recording the words in his coppermind. It was an
interesting experience. As soon as he spoke, he felt the thoughts sucked
from his mind, leaving behind a blank hollowness. He had difficulty
remembering the specifics of what he had just been saying. However, once
he was done filling his coppermind, he would be able to tap those memories
later and know them with crisp clarity.
"The room is tall," he said. "There are a few pillars, and they are also
wrapped in steel. They are blocky and square, rather than round. I get a
sense that this place was created by a people who cared little for subtlety.
They ignored small details in favor of broad lines and full geometries.
"As we move beyond the main entryway, this architectural theme
continues. There are no paintings on the walls, nor are there wooden
adornments or tile floors. Instead, there are only the long, broad hallways
with their harsh lines and reflective surfaces. The floor is constructed of
steel squares, each a few feet across. They are. . .cold to the touch.
"It is strange not to see the tapestries, stained-glass windows, and
sculpted stones that are so common in Luthadel's architecture. There are no
spires or vaultings here. Just squares and rectangles. Lines. . .so many lines.
Nothing here is soft. No carpet, no rugs, no windows. It is a place for
people who see the world differently from ordinary men.
"Marsh walked straight down this massive hallway, as if oblivious to its
decor. I will follow him, then come back to record more later. He seems to
be following something. . .something I cannot sense. Perhaps it is. . ."
Sazed trailed off as he stepped around a bend and saw Marsh standing in
the doorway of a large chamber. The lamplight flickered unevenly as
Sazed's arm quivered.
Marsh had found the servants.
They had been dead long enough that Sazed hadn't noticed the scent until
he had come close. Perhaps that was what Marsh had been following; the
senses of a man burning tin could be quite acute.
The Inquisitors had done their work thoroughly. These were the remnants
of a slaughter. The room was large, but had only one exit, and the bodies
were piled high near the back, killed by what looked like harsh sword or
axe strokes. The servants had huddled up against the back wall as they died.
Sazed turned away.
Marsh, however, remained in the doorway. "There is a bad air about this
place," he finally said.
"You have only just noticed that?" Sazed asked.
Marsh turned, glancing at him, demanding his gaze. "We should not
spend much time here. There are stairs at the end of the hallway behind us. I
will go up—that is where the Inquisitors' quarters will be. If the information
I seek is here, I will find it there. You may stay, or you may descend.
However, do not follow me."
Sazed frowned. "Why?"
"I must be alone here. I cannot explain it. I do not care if you witness
Inquisitor atrocities. I just. . .do not wish to be with you when you do."
Sazed lowered his lamp, turning its light away from the horrific scene.
"Very well."
Marsh turned, brushing past Sazed and disappearing into the dark
hallway. And Sazed was alone.
He tried not to think about that very much. He returned to the main
hallway, describing the slaughter to his coppermind before giving a more
detailed explanation of the architecture and the art—if, indeed, that was
what the different patterns on the wall plates could be called.
As he worked—his voice echoing quietly against the rigid architecture,
his lamp a weak drop of light reflected in steel—his eyes were drawn
toward the back of the hallway. There was a pool of darkness there. A
stairwell, leading down.
Even as he turned back to his description of one of the wall mounts, he
knew that he would eventually find himself walking toward that darkness. It
was the same as ever—the curiosity, the need to understand the unknown.
This sense had driven him as a Keeper, had led him to Kelsier's company.
His search for truths could never be completed, but neither could it be
ignored. So, he eventually turned and approached the stairwell, his own
whispering voice his only companion.
"The stairs are akin to what I saw in the hallway. They are broad and
expansive, like the steps leading up to a temple or palace. Except, these go
down, into darkness. They are large, likely cut from stone and then lined
with steel. They are tall, meant for a determined stride.
"As I walk, I wonder what secrets the Inquisitors deemed worthy of
hiding below the earth, in the basement of their stronghold. This entire
building is a secret. What did they do here, in these massive hallways and
open, empty rooms?
"The stairwell ends in another large, square room. I've noticed something
—there are no doors in the doorways here. Each room is open, visible to
those outside. As I walk, peeking into the rooms beneath the earth, I find
cavernous chambers with few furnishings. No libraries, no lounges. Several
contain large metal blocks that could be altars.
"There is. . .something different here in this last room, at the back of the
main landing. I'm not certain what to make of it. A torture chamber,
perhaps? There are tables—metal tables—set into the floor. They are
bloody, though there are no corpses. Blood flakes and powders at my feet—
a lot of men have died in this room, I think. There don't appear to be torture
implements beyond. . .
"Spikes. Like the ones in Inquisitor eyes. Massive, heavy things—like
the spikes one might pound into the ground with a very large mallet. Some
are tipped with blood, though I don't think I'll handle those. These other
ones. . .yes, they look indistinguishable from the ones in Marsh's eyes. Yet,
some are of different metals."
Sazed set the spike down on a table, metal clinking against metal. He
shivered, scanning the room again. A place to make new Inquisitors,
perhaps? He had a sudden horrific vision of the creatures—once only
several dozen in number—having swelled their ranks during their months
sequestered in the Conventical.
But that didn't seem right. They were a secretive, exclusive bunch. Where
would they have found enough men worthy of joining their ranks? Why not
make Inquisitors from the servants above, rather than just killing them?
Sazed had always suspected that a man had to be an Allomancer to be
changed into an Inquisitor. Marsh's own experience substantiated that
premise: Marsh had been a Seeker, a man who could burn bronze, before
his transformation. Sazed looked again at the blood, the spikes, and the
tables, and decided he wasn't certain that he wanted to know how one made
a new Inquisitor.
Sazed was about to leave the room when his lamp revealed something at
the back. Another doorway.
He moved forward, trying to ignore the dried blood at his feet, and
entered a chamber that didn't seem to match the rest of the Conventical's
daunting architecture. It was cut directly into the stone, and it twisted down
into a very small stairwell. Curious, Sazed walked down the set of worn
stone steps. For the first time since entering the building, he felt cramped,
and he had to stoop as he reached the bottom of the stairwell and entered a
small chamber. He stood up straight, and held up his lamp to reveal. . .
A wall. The room ended abruptly, and his light sparkled off the wall. It
held a steel plate, like those above. This one was a good five feet across,
and nearly as tall. And it bore writing. Suddenly interested, Sazed set down
his pack and stepped forward, raising his lamp to read the top words on the
wall.
The text was in Terris.
It was an old dialect, certainly, but one that Sazed could make out even
without his language coppermind. His hand trembled as he read the words.
I write these words in steel, for anything not set in metal
cannot be trusted.
I have begun to wonder if I am the only sane man remaining.
Can the others not see? They have been waiting so long for
their hero to come—the one spoken of in Terris prophecies—
that they quickly jump between conclusions, presuming that
each story and legend ap1plies to this one man.
My brethren ignore the other facts. They cannot connect the
other strange things that are happening. They are deaf to my
objections and blind to my discoveries.
Perhaps they are right. Perhaps I am mad, or jealous, or
simply daft. My name is Kwaan. Philosopher, scholar, traitor.
I am the one who discovered Alendi, and I am the one who
first proclaimed him to be the Hero of Ages. I am the one
who started this all.
And I am the one who betrayed him, for I now know that he
must never be allowed to complete his quest.
"Sazed."
Sazed jumped, nearly dropping the lamp. Marsh stood in the doorway
behind him. Imperious, discomforting, and so dark. He fit this place, with
its lines and hardness.
"The upstairs quarters are empty," Marsh said. "This trip has been a
waste—my brethren took anything of use with them."
"Not a waste, Marsh," Sazed said, turning back to the plate of text. He
hadn't read all of it; he hadn't even gotten close. The script was written in a
tight, cramped hand, its etchings coating the wall. The steel had preserved
the words despite their obvious age. Sazed's heart beat a little faster.
This was a fragment of text from before the Lord Ruler's reign. A
fragment written by a Terris philosopher—a holy man. Despite ten centuries
of searching, the Keepers had never fulfilled the original goal of their
creation: they had never discovered their own Terris religion.
The Lord Ruler had squelched Terris religious teachings soon after his
rise to power. His persecution of the Terris people—his own people—had
been the most complete of his long reign, and the Keepers had never found
more than vague fragments regarding what their own people had once
believed.
"I have to copy this down, Marsh," Sazed said, reaching for his pack.
Taking a visual memory wouldn't work—no man could stare at a wall of so
much text, then remember the words. He could, perhaps, read them into his
coppermind. However, he wanted a physical record, one that perfectly
preserved the structure of lines and punctuation.
Marsh shook his head. "We will not stay here. I do not think we should
even have come."
Sazed paused, looking up. Then he pulled several large sheets of paper
from his pack. "Very well, then," he said. "I'll take a rubbing. That will be
better anyway, I think. It will let me see the text exactly as it was written."
Marsh nodded, and Sazed got out his charcoal.
This discovery. . .he thought with excitement. This will be like Rashek's
logbook. We are getting close!
However, even as he began the rubbing—his hands moving carefully and
precisely—another thought occurred to him. With a text like this in his
possession, his sense of duty would no longer let him wander the villages.
He had to return to the north to share what he had found, lest he die and this
text be lost. He had to go to Terris.
Or. . .to Luthadel. From there he could send messages north. He had a
valid excuse to get back to the center of action, to see the other
crewmembers again.
Why 1did that make him feel even more guilty?
When I finally had the realization—finally connected all of the signs of
the Anticipation to Alendi—I was so excited. Yet, when I announced my
discovery to the other Worldbringers, I was met with scorn.
Oh, how I wish that I had listened to them.
13
MIST SWIRLED AND SPUN, LIKE monochrome paints running
together on a canvas. Light died in the west, and night came of age.
Vin frowned. "Does it seem like the mists are coming earlier?"
"Earlier?" OreSeur asked in his muffled voice. The kandra wolfhound sat
next to her on the rooftop.
Vin nodded. "Before, the mists didn't start to appear until after it grew
dark, right?"
"It is dark, Mistress."
"But they're already here—they started to gather when the sun was barely
beginning to set."
"I don't see that it matters, Mistress. Perhaps the mists are simply like
other weather patterns—they vary, sometimes."
"Doesn't it even seem a little strange to you?"
"I will think it strange if you wish me to, Mistress," OreSeur said.
"That isn't what I meant."
"I apologize, Mistress," OreSeur said. "Tell me what you do mean, and I
will be certain to believe as commanded."
Vin sighed, rubbing her brow. I wish Sazed were back. . .she thought. It
was an idle wish, however. Even if Sazed were in Luthadel, he wouldn't be
her steward. The Terrismen no longer called any man master. She'd have to
make do with OreSeur. The kandra, at least, could provide information that
Sazed could not—assuming she could get it out of him.
"We need to find the impostor," Vin said. "The one who. . .replaced
someone."
"Yes, Mistress," OreSeur said.
Vin sat back in the mists, reclining on a slanted rooftop, resting her arms
back on the tiles. "Then, I need to know more about you."
"Me, Mistress?"
"Kandra in general. If I'm going to find this impostor, I need to know
how he thinks, need to understand his motivations."
"His motivations will be simple, Mistress," OreSeur said. "He will be
following his Contract."
"What if he's acting without a Contract?"
OreSeur shook his canine head. "Kandra always have a Contract. Without
one, they are not allowed to enter human society."
"Never?" Vin asked.
"Never."
"And what if this is some kind of rogue kandra?" Vin said.
"Such a thing does not exist," OreSeur said firmly.
Oh? Vin thought skeptically. However, she let the matter drop. There was
little reason for a kandra to infiltrate the palace on his own; it was far more
likely that one of Elend's enemies had sent the creature. One of the
warlords, perhaps, or maybe the obligators. Even the other nobility in the
city would have had good reason to spy on Elend.
"Okay," Vin said. "The kandra is a spy, sent to gather information for
another human."
"Yes."
"But," Vin said, "if he did take the body of someone in the palace, he
didn't kill them himself. Kandra can't kill humans, right?"
OreSeur nodded. "We are all bound by that rule."
"So, somebody snuck into the palace, murdered a member of the staff,
then had their kandra take the body." She paused, trying to work through the
problem. "The most dangerous possibilities—the crewmembers—should be
considered first. Fortunately, since the killing happened yesterday, we can
eliminate Breeze, who was outside the city at the time."
OreSeur nodded.
"We can eliminate Elend as well," Vin said. "He was with us on the wall
yesterday."
"That still leaves the majority of the crew, Mistress."
Vin frowned, sitting back. She'd tried to establish solid alibis for Ham,
Dockson, Clubs, and Spook. However, all of them had had at least a few
hours unaccounted for. Long enough for a kandra to digest them and take
their place.
"All right," she said. "So, how do I find the impostor? How can I tell him
from other people?"
OreSeur sat quietly in the mists.
"There has to be a way," Vin said. "His imitation can't be perfect. Would
cutting him work?"
OreSeur shook his head. "Kandra replicate a body perfectly, Mistress—
blood, flesh, skin, and muscle. You have seen that when I split my skin."
Vin sighed, standing and stepping up on the tip of the peaked rooftop.
The mists were already full, and the night was quickly becoming black. She
began to walk idly back and forth on the ridge, an Allomancer's balance
keeping her from falling.
"Perhaps I can just see who isn't acting oddly," she said. "Are most
kandra as good at imitation as you are?"
"Among kandra, my own skill is average. Some are worse, others are
better."
"But no actor is perfect," Vin said.
"Kandra don't often make mistakes, Mistress," OreSeur said. "But, this is
probably your best method. Be warned, however—he could be anyone. My
kind are very skilled."
Vin paused. It's not Elend, she told herself forcibly. He was with me all
day yesterday. Except in the morning.
Too long, she decided. We were on the wall for hours, and those bones
were freshly expelled. Besides, I'd know if it were him. . .wouldn't I?
She shook her head. "There has to be another way. Can I spot a kandra
with Allomancy somehow?"
OreSeur didn't answer immediately. She turned toward him in the
darkness, studying his canine face. "What?" she asked.
"These are not things we speak of with outsiders."
Vin sighed. "Tell me anyway."
"Do you command me to speak?"
"I don't really care to command you in anything."
"Then I may leave?" OreSeur asked. "You do not wish to command me,
so our Contract is dissolved?"
"That isn't what I meant," Vin 1said.
OreSeur frowned—a strange expression to see on a dog's face. "It would
be easier for me if you would try to say what you mean, Mistress."
Vin gritted her teeth. "Why is it you're so hostile?"
"I'm not hostile, Mistress. I am your servant, and will do as you
command. That is part of the Contract."
"Sure. Are you like this with all of your masters?"
"With most, I am fulfilling a specific role," OreSeur said. "I have bones
to imitate—a person to become, a personality to adopt. You have given me
no direction; just the bones of this. . .animal."
So that's it, Vin thought. Still annoyed by the dog's body. "Look, those
bones don't really change anything. You are still the same person."
"You do not understand. It is not who a kandra is that's important. It's
who a kandra becomes. The bones he takes, the role he fulfills. None of my
previous masters have asked me to do something like this."
"Well, I'm not like other masters," Vin said. "Anyway, I asked you a
question. Is there a way I can spot a kandra with Allomancy? And yes, I
command you to speak."
A flash of triumph shone in OreSeur's eyes, as if he enjoyed forcing her
into her role. "Kandra cannot be affected by mental Allomancy, Mistress."
Vin frowned. "Not at all?"
"No, Mistress," OreSeur said. "You can try to Riot or Soothe our
emotions, if you wish, but it will have no effect. We won't even know that
you are trying to manipulate us."
Like someone who is burning copper. "That's not exactly the most useful
bit of information," she said, strolling past the kandra on the roof.
Allomancers couldn't read minds or emotions; when they Soothed or Rioted
another person, they simply had to hope that the person reacted as intended.
She could "test" for a kandra by Soothing someone's emotions, perhaps.
If they didn't react, that might mean they were a kandra—but it could also
just mean that they were good at containing their emotions.
OreSeur watched her pacing. "If it were easy to detect kandra, Mistress,
then we wouldn't be worth much as impostors, would we?"
"I suppose not," Vin acknowledged. However, thinking about what he'd
said made her consider something else. "Can a kandra use Allomancy? If
they eat an Allomancer, I mean?"
OreSeur shook his head.
That's another method, then, Vin thought. If I catch a member of the crew
burning metals, then I know he's not the kandra. Wouldn't help with
Dockson or the palace servants, but it would let her eliminate Ham and
Spook.
"There's something else," Vin said. "Before, when we were doing the job
with Kelsier, he said that we had to keep you away from the Lord Ruler and
his Inquisitors. Why was that?"
OreSeur looked away. "This is not a thing we speak of."
"Then I command you to speak of it."
"Then I must refuse to answer," OreSeur said.
"Refuse to answer?" Vin asked. "You can do that?"
OreSeur nodded. "We are not required to reveal secrets about kandra
nature, Mistress. It is—"
"In the Contract," Vin finished, frowning. I really need to read that thing
again.
"Yes, Mistress. I have, perhaps, said too much already."
Vin turned away from OreSeur, looking out over the city. The mists
continued to spin. Vin closed her eyes, questing out with bronze, trying to
feel the telltale pulse of an Allomancer burning metals nearby.
OreSeur rose and padded over beside her, then settled down on his
haunches again, sitting on the inclined roof. "Shouldn't you be at the
meeting the king is having, Mistress?"
"Perhaps later," Vin said, opening her eyes. Out beyond the city,
watchfires from the armies lit the horizon. Keep Venture blazed in the night
to her right, and inside of it, Elend was holding council with the others.
Many of the most important men in the government, sitting together in one
room. Elend would call her paranoid for insisting that she be the one who
watched for spies and assassins. That was fine; he could call her whatever
he wanted, as long as he stayed alive.
She settled back down. She was glad Elend had decided to pick Keep
Venture as his palace, rather than moving into Kredik Shaw, the Lord
Ruler's home. Not only was Kredik Shaw too big to be properly defended,
but it also reminded her of him. The Lord Ruler.
She thought of the Lord Ruler often, lately—or, rather, she thought of
Rashek, the man who had become the Lord Ruler. A Terrisman by birth,
Rashek had killed the man who should have taken the power at the Well of
Ascension and. . .
And done what? They still didn't know. The Hero had been on a quest to
protect the people from a danger simply known as the Deepness. So much
had been lost; so much had been intentionally destroyed. Their best source
of information about those days came in the form of an aged journal,
written by the Hero of Ages during the days before Rashek had killed him.
However, it gave precious few clues about his quest.
Why do I even worry about these things? Vin thought. The Deepness is a
thing a thousand years forgotten. Elend and the others are right to be
concerned about more pressing events.
And still, Vin found herself strangely detached from them. Perhaps that
was why she found herself scouting outside. It wasn't that she didn't worry
about the armies. She just felt. . .removed from the problem. Even now, as
she considered the threat to Luthadel, her mind was drawn back to the Lord
Ruler.
You don't know what I do for mankind, he had said. I was your god, even
if you couldn't see it. By killing me, you have doomed yourselves. Those
were the Lord Ruler's last words, spoken as he lay dying on the floor of his
own throne room. They worried her. Chilled her, even still.
She needed to distract herself. "What kinds of things do you like,
kandra?" she asked, turning to the creature, who still sat on the rooftop
beside her. "What are your loves, your hatreds?"
"I do not want to answer that."
Vin frowned. "Do not want to, or do not have to?"
OreSeur paused. "Do not want to, Mistress." The implication was
obvious. You're going to have to command me.
She almost did. However, something gave her pause, something in those
eyes—inhuman though they were. Something familiar.
She'd known resentment like that. She'd felt it often during her youth,
when she'd served crewleaders 1who had lorded over their followers. In the
crews, one did what one was commanded—especially if one was a small
waif of a girl, without rank or means of intimidation.
"If you don't wish to speak of it," Vin said, turning away from the kandra,
"then I won't force you."
OreSeur was silent.
Vin breathed in the mist, its cool wetness tickling her throat and lungs.
"Do you know what I love, kandra?"
"No, Mistress."
"The mists," she said, holding out her arms. "The power, the freedom."
OreSeur nodded slowly. Nearby, Vin felt a faint pulsing with her bronze.
Quiet, strange, unnerving. It was the same odd pulsing that she had felt atop
Keep Venture a few nights before. She had never been brave enough to
investigate it again.
It's time to do something about that, she decided. "Do you know what I
hate, kandra?" she whispered, falling to a crouch, checking her knives and
metals.
"No, Mistress."
She turned, meeting OreSeur's eyes. "I hate being afraid."
She knew that others thought her jumpy. Paranoid. She had lived with
fear for so long that she had once seen it as something natural, like the ash,
the sun, or the ground itself.
Kelsier had taken that fear away. She was careful, still, but she didn't feel
a constant sense of terror. The Survivor had given her a life where the ones
she loved didn't beat her, had shown her something better than fear. Trust.
Now that she knew of these things, she would not quickly surrender them.
Not to armies, not to assassins. . .
Not even to spirits.
"Follow if you can," she whispered, then dropped off the rooftop to the
street below.
She dashed along the mist-slicked street, building momentum before she
had time to lose her nerve. The source of the bronze pulses was close; it
came from only one street over, in a building. Not the top, she decided. One
of the darkened windows on the third floor, the shutters open.
Vin dropped a coin and jumped into the air. She shot upward, angling
herself by Pushing against a latch across the street. She landed in the
window's pitlike opening, arms grabbing the sides of the frame. She flared
tin, letting her eyes adjust to the deep darkness within the abandoned room.
And it was there. Formed entirely of mists, it shifted and spun, its outline
vague in the dark chamber. It had a vantage to see the rooftop where Vin
and OreSeur had been talking.
Ghosts don't spy on people. . .do they? Skaa didn't speak of things like
spirits or the dead. It smacked too much of religion, and religion was for the
nobility. To worship was death for skaa. That hadn't stopped some, of
course—but thieves like Vin had been too pragmatic for such things.
There was only one thing in skaa lore that this creature matched.
Mistwraiths. Creatures said to steal the souls of men foolish enough to go
outside at night. But, Vin now knew what mistwraiths were. They were
cousins to the kandra—strange, semi-intelligent beasts who used the bones
of those they ingested. They were odd, true—but hardly phantoms, and not
really even that dangerous. There were no dark wraiths in the night, no
haunting spirits or ghouls.
Or so Kelsier had said. The thing standing in the dark room—its
insubstantial form w1rithing in the mists—seemed a powerful
counterexample. She gripped the sides of the window, fear—her old friend
—returning.
Run. Flee. Hide.
"Why have you been watching me?" she demanded.
The thing did not move. Its form seemed to draw the mists forward, and
they spun slightly, as if in an air current.
I can sense it with bronze. That means it's using Allomancy—and
Allomancy attracts the mist.
The thing stepped forward. Vin tensed.
And then the spirit was gone.
Vin paused, frowning. That was it? She had—
Something grabbed her arm. Something cold, something terrible, but
something very real. A pain shot through her head, moving as if from her
ear and into her mind. She yelled, but cut off as her voice failed. With a
quiet groan—her arm quivering and shaking—she fell backward out of the
window.
Her arm was still cold. She could feel it whipping in the air beside her,
seeming to exude chill air. Mist passed like trailing clouds.
Vin flared tin. Pain, cold, wetness, and lucidity burst into her mind, and
she threw herself into a twist and flared pewter just as she hit the ground.
"Mistress?" OreSeur said, darting from the shadows.
Vin shook her head, pushing herself up to her knees, her palms cool
against the slick cobblestones. She could still feel the trailing chill in her
left arm.
"Shall I go for aid?" the wolfhound asked.
Vin shook her head, forcing herself into a wobbling stand. She looked
upward, through swirling mists, toward the black window above.
She shivered. Her shoulder was sore from where she had hit the ground,
and her still bruised side throbbed, but she could feel her strength returning.
She stepped away from the building, still looking up. Above her, the deep
mists seemed. . .ominous. Obscuring.
No, she thought forcefully. The mists are my freedom; the night is my
home! This is where I belong. I haven't needed to be afraid in the night
since Kelsier taught me otherwise.
She couldn't lose that. She wouldn't go back to the fear. Still, she couldn't
help the quick urgency in her step as she waved to OreSeur and scampered
away from the building. She gave no explanation for her strange actions.
He didn't ask for one.
Elend set a third pile of books onto the table, and it slumped against the
other two, threatening to topple the entire lot to the floor. He steadied them,
then glanced up.
Breeze, in a prim suit, regarded the table with amusement as he sipped
his wine. Ham and Spook were playing a game of stones as they waited for
the meeting to begin; Spook was winning. Dockson sat in the corner of the
room, scribbling on a ledger, and Clubs sat in a deep plush chair, eyeing
Elend with one of his stares.
Any of these men could be an impostor, Elend thought. The thought still
seemed insane to him. What was he to do? Exclude them all from his
confidence? No, he needed them too much.
The only option was to act normally and watch them. Vin had told him to
try and spot inconsistencies in their personalities. He intended to do his
best, but the reality was1 he wasn't sure how much he would be able to see.
This was more Vin's area of expertise. He needed to worry about the armies.
Thinking of her, he glanced at the stained-glass window at the back of the
study, and was surprised to see it was dark.
That late already? Elend thought.
"My dear man," Breeze noted. "When you told us you needed to 'go and
gather a few important references,' you might have warned us that you were
planning to be gone for two full hours."
"Yes, well," Elend said, "I kind of lost track of time. . .."
"For two hours?"
Elend nodded sheepishly. "There were books involved."
Breeze shook his head. "If the fate of the Central Dominance weren't at
stake—and if it weren't so fantastically enjoyable to watch Hammond lose
an entire month's earnings to the boy there—I'd have left an hour ago."
"Yes, well, we can get started now," Elend said.
Ham chuckled, standing up. "Actually, it's kind of like the old days. Kell
always arrived late, too—and he liked to hold his meetings at night.
Mistborn hours."
Spook smiled, his coin pouch bulging.
We still use boxings—Lord Ruler imperials—as our coinage, Elend
thought. We'll have to do something about that.
"I miss the charcoal board, though," Spook said.
"I certainly don't," Breeze replied. "Kell had atrocious handwriting."
"Absolutely atrocious," Ham said with a smile, sitting. "You have to
admit, though—it was distinctive."
Breeze raised an eyebrow. "It was that, I suppose."
Kelsier, the Survivor of Hathsin, Elend thought. Even his handwriting is
legendary. "Regardless," he said, "I think perhaps we should get to work.
We've still got two armies waiting out there. We're not leaving tonight until
we have a plan to deal with them!"
The crewmembers shared looks.
"Actually, Your Majesty," Dockson said, "we've already worked on that
problem for a bit."
"Oh?" Elend asked, surprised. Well, I guess I did leave them alone for a
couple of hours. "Let me hear it, then."
Dockson stood, pulling his chair a bit closer to join the rest of the group,
and Ham began to speak.
"Here's the thing, El," Ham said. "With two armies here, we don't have to
worry about an immediate attack. But, we're still in serious danger. This
will probably turn into an extended siege as each army tries to outlast the
other."
"They'll try to starve us out," Clubs said. "Weaken us, and their enemies,
before attacking."
"And," Ham continued, "that puts us in a bind—because we can't last
very long. The city is already on the edge of starvation—and the enemy
kings are probably aware of that fact."
"What are you saying?" Elend asked slowly.
"We have to make an alliance with one of those armies, Your Majesty,"
Dockson said. "They both know it. Alone, they can't reliably defeat one
another. With our help, however, the balance will be tipped."
"They'll he1m us in," Ham said. "Keep us blockaded until we get
desperate enough to side with one of them. Eventually, we'll have to do so
—either that, or let our people starve."
"The decision comes down to this," Breeze said. "We can't outlast the
others, so we have to choose which of those men we want to take over the
city. And, I would suggest making our decision quickly as opposed to
waiting while our supplies run out."
Elend stood quietly. "By making a deal with one of those armies, we'll
essentially be giving away our kingdom."
"True," Breeze said, tapping the side of his cup. "However, what I gained
us by bringing a second army is bargaining power. You see, at least we are
in a position to demand something in exchange for our kingdom."
"What good is that?" Elend asked. "We still lose."
"It's better than nothing," Breeze said. "I think that we might be able to
persuade Cett to leave you as a provisional leader in Luthadel. He doesn't
like the Central Dominance; he finds it barren and flat."
"Provisional leader of the city," Elend said with a frown. "That is
somewhat different from king of the Central Dominance."
"True," Dockson said. "But, every emperor needs good men to
administrate the cities under their rule. You wouldn't be king, but you—and
our armies—would live through the next few months, and Luthadel
wouldn't be pillaged."
Ham, Breeze, and Dockson all sat resolutely, looking him in the eye.
Elend glanced down at his pile of books, thinking of his research and study.
Worthless. How long had the crew known that there was only one course of
action?
The crew seemed to take Elend's silence as assent.
"Cett really is the best choice, then?" Dockson asked. "Perhaps Straff
would be more likely to make an agreement with Elend—they are, after all,
family."
Oh, he'd make an agreement, Elend thought. And he'd break it the
moment it was convenient. But. . .the alternative? Give the city over to this
Cett? What would happen to this land, this people, if he were in charge?
"Cett is best, I think," Breeze said. "He is very willing to let others rule,
as long as he gets his glory and his coins. The problem is going to be that
atium. Cett thinks it is here, and if he doesn't find it. . ."
"We just let him search the city," Ham said.
Breeze nodded. "You'd have to persuade him that I misled him about the
atium—and that shouldn't be too hard, considering what he thinks of me.
Which is another small matter—you'll have to convince him that I've been
dealt with. Perhaps he'd believe that I was executed as soon as Elend found
out I had raised an army against him."
The others nodded.
"Breeze?" Elend asked. "How does Lord Cett treat the skaa in his lands?"
Breeze paused, then glanced away. "Not well, I'm afraid."
"Now, see," Elend said. "I think we need to consider how to best protect
our people. I mean, if we give everything over to Cett, then we'd save my
skin—but at the cost of the entire skaa population of the dominance!"
Dockson shook his head. "Elend, it's not a betrayal. Not if this is the only
way."
"That's easy to say," Elend said. "But I'm the one who'd have to bear the
guilty co1nscience for doing such a thing. I'm not saying that we should
throw out your suggestion, but I do have a few ideas that we might talk
about. . .."
The others shared looks. As usual, Clubs and Spook remained quiet
during proceedings; Clubs only spoke when he felt it absolutely necessary,
and Spook tended to stay on the periphery of the conversations. Finally,
Breeze, Ham, and Dockson looked back at Elend.
"This is your country, Your Majesty," Dockson said carefully. "We're
simply here to give advice." Very good advice, his tone implied.
"Yes, well," Elend said, quickly selecting a book. In his haste, he
knocked over one of the stacks, sending a clatter of books across the table
and landing a volume in Breeze's lap.
"Sorry," Elend said, as Breeze rolled his eyes and sat the book back up on
the table. Elend pulled open his own book. "Now, this volume had some
very interesting things to say about the movement and arrangement of troop
bodies—"
"Uh, El?" Ham asked, frowning. "That looks like a book on shipping
grain."
"I know," Elend said. "There weren't a lot of books about warfare in the
library. I guess that's what we get for a thousand years without any wars.
However, this book does mention how much grain it took to keep the
various garrisons in the Final Empire stocked. Do you have any idea how
much food an army needs?"
"You have a point," Clubs said, nodding. "Usually, it's a blasted pain to
keep soldiers fed; we often had supply problems fighting on the frontier,
and we were only small bands, sent to quell the occasional rebellion."
Elend nodded. Clubs didn't often speak of his past fighting in the Lord
Ruler's army—and the crew didn't often ask him about it.
"Anyway," Elend said, "I'll bet both Cett and my father are unaccustomed
to moving large bodies of men. There will be supply problems, especially
for Cett, since he marched so hastily."
"Maybe not," Clubs said. "Both armies have secured canal routes into
Luthadel. That will make it easy for them to send for more supplies."
"Plus," Breeze added, "though much of Cett's land is in revolt right now,
he does still hold the city of Haverfrex, which held one of the Lord Ruler's
main canneries. Cett has a remarkable amount of food a short canal trip
away."
"Then, we disrupt the canals," Elend said. "We find a way to stop those
supplies from coming. Canals make resupply quick, but also vulnerable,
since we know exactly which route it will take. And, if we can take away
their food, perhaps they'll be forced to turn around and march home."
"Either that," Breeze said, "or they'll just decide to risk attacking
Luthadel."
Elend paused. "That's a possibility," he said. "But, well, I've been
researching how to hold the city as well." He reached across the table,
picking up a book. "Now, this is Jendellah's City Management in the
Modern Era. He mentions how difficult Luthadel is to police because of its
extreme size and large number of skaa slums. He suggests using roving
bands of city watchmen. I think we could adapt his methods to use in a
battle—our wall is too long to defend in detail, but if we had mobile bands
of troops that could respond to—"
"Your Majesty," Dockson interrupted.
"Hum? Yes?"
"We've got a troop of boys and men who have barely a year's training,
an1d we're facing not one overwhelming force, but two. We can't win this
battle by force."
"Oh, yes," Elend said. "Of course. I was just saying that if we did have to
fight, I have some strategies. . .."
"If we fight, we lose," Clubs said. "We'll probably lose anyway."
Elend paused for a moment. "Yes, well, I just. . ."
"Attacking the canal routes is a good idea, though," Dockson said. "We
can do that covertly, perhaps hire some of the bandits in the area to attack
supply barges. It probably won't be enough to send Cett or Straff home, but
we could make them more desperate to make alliances with us."
Breeze nodded. "Cett's already worried about instability back in his home
dominance. We should send him a preliminary messenger, let him know
we're interested in an alliance. That way, as soon as his supply problems
begin, he'll think of us."
"We could even send him a letter explaining Breeze's execution,"
Dockson said, "as a sign of good faith. That—"
Elend cleared his throat. The others paused.
"I, uh, wasn't finished yet," Elend said.
"I apologize, Your Majesty," Dockson said.
Elend took a deep breath. "You're right—we can't afford to fight those
armies. But, I think we need to find a way to get them to fight each other."
"A pleasant sentiment, my dear man," Breeze said. "But getting those
two to attack one another isn't as simple as persuading Spook over there to
refill my wine." He turned, holding out his empty cup. Spook paused, then
sighed, rising to fetch the wine bottle.
"Well, yes," Elend said. "But, while there aren't a lot of books on warfare,
there are a lot about politics. Breeze, you said the other day that being the
weakest party in a three-way stalemate gives us power."
"Exactly," Breeze said. "We can tip the battle for either of the two larger
sides."
"Yes," Elend said, opening a book. "Now that there are three parties
involved, it's not warfare—it's politics. This is just like a contest between
houses. And in house politicking, even the most powerful houses can't stand
without allies. The small houses are weak individually, but they are strong
when considered as a group.
"We're like one of those small houses. If we want to make any gains,
we're going to have to get our enemies to forget about us—or, at least, make
them think us inconsequential. If they both assume that they have the better
of us—that they can use us to defeat the other army, then turn on us at their
leisure—then they'll leave us alone and concentrate on each other."
Ham rubbed his chin. "You're talking about playing both sides, Elend. It's
a dangerous position to put ourselves in."
Breeze nodded. "We'd have to switch our allegiance to whichever side
seems weaker at the moment, keep them snapping at each other. And there's
no guarantee that the winner between the two would be weakened enough
for us to defeat."
"Not to mention our food problems," Dockson said. "What you propose
would take time, Your Majesty. Time during which we'd be under siege, our
supplies dwindling. It's autumn right now. Winter will soon be upon us."
"It will be tough," Elend agreed. "And risky. But, I think we can do it. We
make them both think we're allied1 with them, but we hold back our
support. We encourage them against one another, and we wear away at their
supplies and morale, pushing them into a conflict. When the dust settles, the
surviving army might just be weak enough for us to beat."
Breeze looked thoughtful. "It has style," he admitted. "And, it does kind
of sound fun."
Dockson smiled. "You only say that because it involves making someone
else do our work for us."
Breeze shrugged. "Manipulation works so well on a personal level, I
don't see why it wouldn't be an equally viable national policy."
"That's actually how most rulership works," Ham mused. "What is a
government but an institutionalized method of making sure somebody else
does all the work?"
"Uh, the plan?" Elend asked.
"I don't know, El," Ham said, getting back on topic. "It sounds like one of
Kell's plans—foolhardy, brave, and a little insane." He sounded as if he
were surprised to hear Elend propose such a measure.
I can be as foolhardy as any man, Elend thought indignantly, then
paused. Did he really want to follow that line of thought?
"We could get ourselves into some serious trouble," Dockson said. "If
either side decides it's tired of our games. . ."
"They'll destroy us," Elend said. "But. . .well, gentlemen, you're
gamblers. You can't tell me that this plan doesn't appeal to you more than
simply bowing before Lord Cett."
Ham shared a look with Breeze, and they seemed to be considering the
idea. Dockson rolled his eyes, but seemed like he was objecting simply out
of habit.
No, they didn't want to take the safe way out. These were the men who
had challenged the Lord Ruler, men who had made their livelihood
scamming noblemen. In some ways, they were very careful; they could be
precise in their attention to detail, cautious in covering their tracks and
protecting their interests. But when it came time to gamble for the big prize,
they were often willing.
No, not willing. Eager.
Great, Elend thought. I've filled my inner council with a bunch of thrillseeking masochists. Even worse, I've decided to join them. But, what else
could he do?
"We could at least consider it," Breeze said. "It does sound exciting."
"Now, see, I didn't suggest this because it was exciting, Breeze," Elend
said. "I spent my youth trying to plan how I would make a better city of
Luthadel once I became leader of my house. I'm not going to throw away
those dreams at the first sign of opposition."
"What about the Assembly?" Ham said.
"That's the best part," Elend said. "They voted in my proposal at the
meeting two days back. They can't open the city gates to any invader until I
meet with my father in parlay."
The crew sat quietly for a few moments. Finally, Ham turned to Elend,
shaking his head. "I really don't know, El. It sounds appealing. We actually
discussed a few more daring plans like this while we were waiting for you.
But. . ."
"But what?" Elend asked.
"A plan like this depends a lot on you, my dear man," Breeze said,
sipping his wine. "You'd have to be the one to meet with the kings—the one
to persuade them both that we're on their side. No offense, but you're new to
1scamming. It's difficult to agree to a daring plan that puts a newcomer in
as the linchpin member of the team."
"I can do this," Elend said. "Really."
Ham glanced at Breeze, then both glanced at Clubs. The gnarled general
shrugged. "If the kid wants to try it, then let him."
Ham sighed, then looked back. "I guess I agree. As long as you're up to
this, El."
"I think I am," Elend said, covering his nervousness. "I just know we
can't give up, not easily. Maybe this won't work—maybe, after a couple
months of being besieged, we'll just end up giving away the city anyway.
However, that gives us a couple of months during which something could
happen. It's worth the risk to wait, rather than fold. Wait, and plan."
"All right, then," Dockson said. "Give us some time to come up with
some ideas and options, Your Majesty. We'll meet again in a few days to
talk about specifics."
"All right," Elend said. "Sounds good. Now, if we can move on to other
matters, I'd like to mention—"
A knock came at the door. At Elend's call, Captain Demoux pushed open
the door, looking a little embarrassed. "Your Majesty?" he said. "I
apologize, but. . .I think we caught someone listening in on your meeting."
"What?" Elend said. "Who?"
Demoux turned to the side, waving in a pair of his guards. The woman
they led into the room was vaguely familiar to Elend. Tall, like most Terris,
she wore a bright-colored, but utilitarian, dress. Her ears were stretched
downward, the lobes elongated to accommodate numerous earrings.
"I recognize you," Elend said. "From the Assembly hall a few days ago.
You were watching me."
The woman didn't answer. She looked over the room's occupants,
standing stiffly—even haughtily—despite her bound wrists. Elend had
never actually met a Terriswoman before; he'd only met stewards, eunuchs
trained from birth to work as manservants. For some reason, Elend had
expected a Terriswoman to seem a bit more servile.
"She was hiding in the next room over," Demoux said. "I'm sorry, Your
Majesty. I don't know how she got past us. We found her listening against
the wall, though I doubt she heard anything. I mean, those walls are made
of stone."
Elend met the woman's eyes. Older—perhaps fifty—she wasn't beautiful,
but neither was she homely. She was sturdy, with a straightforward,
rectangular face. Her stare was calm and firm, and it made Elend
uncomfortable to hold it for long.
"So, what did you expect to overhear, woman?" Elend asked.
The Terriswoman ignored the comment. She turned to the others, and
spoke in a lightly accented voice. "I would speak with the king alone. The
rest of you are excused."
Ham smiled. "Well, at least she's got nerve."
Dockson addressed the Terriswoman. "What makes you think that we
would leave our king alone with you?"
"His Majesty and I have things to discuss," the woman said in a
businesslike manner, as if oblivious of—or unconcerned about—her status
as a prisoner. "You needn't be worried about his safety; I'm certain that the
young Mistborn hiding outside the window will be more than enough to
deal with me."
Elend glanced to the side, toward the small ventilation window beside the
more massive stained-glass one. How wo1uld the Terriswoman have known
that Vin was watching? Her ears would have to be extraordinarily keen.
Keen enough, perhaps, to listen in on the meeting through a stone wall?
Elend turned back to the newcomer. "You're a Keeper."
She nodded.
"Did Sazed send you?"
"It is because of him that I am here," she said. "But I was not 'sent.'"
"Ham, it's all right," Elend said slowly. "You can go."
"Are you sure?" Ham asked, frowning.
"Leave me bound, if you wish," the woman said.
If she really is a Feruchemist, that won't be much of a hindrance, Elend
thought. Of course, if she really is a Feruchemist—a Keeper, like Sazed—I
shouldn't have anything to fear from her. Theoretically.
The others shuffled from the room, their postures indicating what they
thought of Elend's decision. Though they were no longer thieves by
profession, Elend suspected that they—like Vin—would always bear the
effects of their upbringing.
"We'll be just outside, El," Ham—the last one out—said, then pulled the
door shut.
And yet, any who know me will realize that there was no chance I would
give up so easily. Once I find something to investigate, I become dogged in
my pursuit.
14
THE TERRISWOMAN SNAPPED HER BONDS, and the ropes
dropped to the floor.
"Uh, Vin?" Elend said, beginning to wonder about the logic of meeting
with this woman. "Perhaps it's time you came in."
"She's not actually there," the Terriswoman said offhandedly, walking
forward. "She left a few minutes ago to do her rounds. That is why I let
myself be caught."
"Um, I see," Elend said. "I'll be calling for the guards now."
"Don't be a fool," the Terriswoman said. "If I wanted to kill you, I could
do it before the others got back in. Now be quiet for a moment."
Elend stood uncomfortably as the tall woman walked around the table in
a slow circle, studying him as a merchant might inspect a piece of furniture
up for auction. Finally she stopped, placing her hands on her hips.
"Stand up straight," she commanded.
"Excuse me?"
"You're slouching," the woman said. "A king must maintain an air of
dignity at all times, even when with his friends."
Elend frowned. "Now, while I appreciate advice, I don't—"
"No," the woman said. "Don't hedge. Command."
"Excuse me?" Elend said again.
The woman stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and pressing
his back firmly to improve his posture. She stepped back, then nodded
slightly to herself.
"Now, see," Elend said. "I don't—"
"No," the woman interrupted. "You must be stronger in the way that you
speak. Presentation—words, actions, postures—will determine how people
judge you and react to you. If you start every sentence with softness and
uncertainty, you will seem soft and uncertain. Be forceful!"1
"What is going on here?" Elend demanded, exasperated.
"There," the woman said. "Finally."
"You said that you know Sazed?" Elend asked, resisting the urge to
slouch back into his earlier posture.
"He is an acquaintance," the woman said. "My name is Tindwyl; I am, as
you have guessed, a Keeper of Terris." She tapped her foot for a moment,
then shook her head. "Sazed warned me about your slovenly appearance,
but I honestly assumed that no king could have such a poor sense of selfpresentation."
"Slovenly?" Elend asked. "Excuse me?"
"Stop saying that," Tindwyl snapped. "Don't ask questions; say what you
mean. If you object, object—don't leave your words up to my
interpretation."
"Yes, well, while this is fascinating," Elend said, walking toward the
door, "I'd rather avoid further insults this evening. If you'll excuse me. . ."
"Your people think you are a fool, Elend Venture," Tindwyl said quietly.
Elend paused.
"The Assembly—a body you yourself organized—ignores your authority.
The skaa are convinced that you won't be able to protect them. Even your
own council of friends makes their plans in your absence, assuming your
input to be no great loss."
Elend closed his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath.
"You have good ideas, Elend Venture," Tindwyl said. "Regal ideas.
However, you are not a king. A man can only lead when others accept him
as their leader, and he has only as much authority as his subjects give to
him. All of the brilliant ideas in the world cannot save your kingdom if no
one will listen to them."
Elend turned. "This last year I've read every pertinent book on leadership
and governance in the four libraries."
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. "Then, I suspect that you spent a great deal
of time in your room that you should have been out, being seen by your
people and learning to be a ruler."
"Books have great value," Elend said.
"Actions have greater value."
"And where am I to learn the proper actions?"
"From me."
Elend paused.
"You may know that every Keeper has an area of special interest,"
Tindwyl said. "While we all memorize the same store of information, one
person can only study and understand a limited amount of that store. Our
mutual friend Sazed spends his time on religions."
"And your specialty?"
"Biographies," she said. "I have studied the lives of generals, kings, and
emperors whose names you have never heard. Understanding theories of
politics and leadership, Elend Venture, is not the same as understanding the
lives of men who lived such principles."
"And. . .you can teach me to emulate those men?"
"Perhaps," Tindwyl said. "I haven't yet decided whether or not you're a
hopeless case. But, I am here, so I will do what I can. A few months ago, I
received a letter from Sazed, explaining your predicament. He did not ask
me to come to train you—but, then, Sazed is perhaps another man who
could learn to be more forceful."
Elend nodded slowly, meet1ing the Terriswoman's eyes.
"Will you accept my instruction, then?" she asked.
Elend thought for a moment. If she's anywhere near as useful as Sazed,
then. . .well, I could certainly use some help at this. "I will," he said.
Tindwyl nodded. "Sazed also mentioned your humility. It could be an
asset—assuming you don't let it get in the way. Now, I believe that your
Mistborn has returned."
Elend turned toward the side window. The shutter swung open, allowing
mist to begin streaming into the room and revealing a crouching, cloaked
form.
"How did you know I was here?" Vin asked quietly.
Tindwyl smiled—the first such expression Elend had seen on her face.
"Sazed mentioned you as well, child. You and I should speak soon in
private, I think."
Vin slipped into the room, drawing mist in behind her, then closed the
shutter. She didn't bother to hide her hostility or mistrust as she put herself
between Elend and Tindwyl.
"Why are you here?" Vin demanded.
Tindwyl smiled again. "It took your king there several minutes to get to
that question, and here you ask it after a few bare moments. You are an
interesting couple, I think."
Vin's eyes narrowed.
"Regardless, I should withdraw," Tindwyl said. "We shall speak again, I
assume, Your Majesty?"
"Yes, of course," Elend said. "Um. . .is there anything I should begin
practicing?"
"Yes," Tindwyl said, walking to the door. "Stop saying 'um.'"
"Right."
Ham poked his head in the door as soon as Tindwyl opened it. He
immediately noticed her discarded bonds. He didn't say anything, however;
he likely assumed that Elend had freed her.
"I think we're done for the night, everyone," Elend said. "Ham, would
you see that Mistress Tindwyl is given quarters in the palace? She's a friend
of Sazed's."
Ham shrugged. "All right, then." He nodded to Vin, then withdrew.
Tindwyl did not bid them good night as she left.
Vin frowned, then glanced at Elend. He seemed. . .distracted. "I don't like
her," she said.
Elend smiled, stacking up the books on his table. "You don't like anyone
when you first meet them, Vin."
"I liked you."
"Thereby demonstrating that you are a terrible judge of character."
Vin paused, then smiled. She walked over and began picking through the
books. They weren't typical Elend fare—far more practical than the kinds of
things he usually read. "How did it go tonight?" she asked. "I didn't have
much time to listen."
Elend sighed. He turned, sitting down on the table, looking up at the
massive rose window at the back of the room. It was dark, its colors only
hinted as reflections in the black glass. "It went well, I suppose."
"I told you they'd like your plan. It's the sort of thing they'll find
challenging."
"I suppose," Elend said.
Vin frowned. "All right," she said, hopping up to stand on the table. She
sat down beside him. "What is it? Is it something that woman said? What
did1 she want, anyway?"
"Just to pass on some knowledge," he said. "You know how Keepers are,
always wanting an ear to listen to their lessons."
"I suppose," Vin said slowly. She hadn't ever seen Elend depressed, but
he did get discouraged. He had so many ideas, so many plans and hopes,
that she sometimes wondered how he kept them all straight. She would
have said that he lacked focus; Reen had always said that focus kept a thief
alive. Elend's dreams, however, were so much a part of who he was. She
doubted he could discard them. She didn't think she would want him to, for
they were part of what she loved about him.
"They agreed to the plan, Vin," Elend said, still looking up at the
window. "They even seemed excited, like you said they'd be. It's just. . .I
can't help thinking that their suggestion was far more rational than mine.
They wanted to side with one of the armies, giving it our support in
exchange for leaving me as a subjugated ruler in Luthadel."
"That would be giving up," Vin said.
"Sometimes, giving up is better than failing. I just committed my city to
an extended siege. That will mean hunger, perhaps starvation, before this is
over with."
Vin put a hand on his shoulder, watching him uncertainly. Usually, he
was the one who reassured her. "It's still a better way," she said. "The others
probably just suggested a weaker plan because they thought you wouldn't
go along with something more daring."
"No," Elend said. "They weren't pandering to me, Vin. They really
thought that making a strategic alliance was a good, safe plan." He paused,
then looked at her. "Since when did that group represent the reasonable side
of my government?"
"They've had to grow," Vin said. "They can't be the men they once were,
not with this much responsibility."
Elend turned back toward the window. "I'll tell you what worries me,
Vin. I'm worried that their plan wasn't reasonable—perhaps it itself was a
bit foolhardy. Perhaps making an alliance would have been a difficult
enough task. If that's the case, then what I'm proposing is just downright
ludicrous."
Vin squeezed his shoulder. "We fought the Lord Ruler."
"You had Kelsier then."
"Not that again."
"I'm sorry," Elend said. "But, really, Vin. Maybe my plan to try and hold
on to the government is just arrogance. What was it you told me about your
childhood? When you were in the thieving crews, and everyone was bigger,
stronger, and meaner than you, what did you do? Did you stand up to the
leaders?"
Memories flashed in her mind. Memories of hiding, of keeping her eyes
down, of weakness.
"That was then," she said. "You can't let others beat on you forever.
That's what Kelsier taught me—that's why we fought the Lord Ruler. That's
why the skaa rebellion fought the Final Empire all those years, even when
there was no chance of winning. Reen taught me that the rebels were fools.
But Reen is dead now—and so is the Final Empire. And. . ."
She leaned down, catching Elend's eyes. "You can't give up the city,
Elend," she said quietly. "I don't think I'd like what that would do to you."
Elend paused, then smiled slowly. "You can be very wise sometimes,
Vin."
"You think that?"
He nodded.
1
"Well," she said, "then obviously you're as poor a judge of character as I
am."
Elend laughed, putting his arm around her, hugging her against his side.
"So, I assume the patrol tonight was uneventful?"
The mist spirit. Her fall. The chill she could still feel—if only faintly
remembered—in her forearm. "It was," she said. The last time she'd told
him of the mist spirit, he'd immediately thought she'd been seeing things.
"See," Elend said, "you should have come to the meeting; I would have
liked to have had you here."
She said nothing.
They sat for a few minutes, looking up at the dark window. There was an
odd beauty to it; the colors weren't visible because of the lack of back light,
and she could instead focus on the patterns of glass. Chips, slivers, slices,
and plates woven together within a framework of metal.
"Elend?" she finally said. "I'm worried."
"I'd be concerned if you weren't," he said. "Those armies have me so
worried that I can barely think straight."
"No," Vin said. "Not about that. I'm worried about other things."
"Like what?"
"Well. . .I've been thinking about what the Lord Ruler said, right before I
killed him. Do you remember?"
Elend nodded. He hadn't been there, but she'd told him.
"He talked about what he'd done for mankind," Vin said. "He saved us,
the stories say. From the Deepness."
Elend nodded.
"But," Vin said, "what was the Deepness? You were a nobleman—
religion wasn't forbidden to you. What did the Ministry teach about the
Deepness and the Lord Ruler?"
Elend shrugged. "Not much, really. Religion wasn't forbidden, but it
wasn't encouraged either. There was something proprietary about the
Ministry, an air that implied they would take care of religious things—that
we didn't need to worry ourselves."
"But they did teach you about some things, right?"
Elend nodded. "Mostly, they talked about why the nobility were
privileged and the skaa cursed. I guess they wanted us to understand how
fortunate we were—though honestly, I always found the teachings a little
disturbing. See, they claimed that we were noble because our ancestors
supported the Lord Ruler before the Ascension. But, that means that we
were privileged because of what other people had done. Not really fair, eh?"
Vin shrugged. "Fair as anything else, I guess."
"But, didn't you get angry?" Elend said. "Didn't it frustrate you that the
nobility had so much while you had so little?"
"I didn't think about it," Vin said. "The nobility had a lot, so we could
take it from them. Why should I care how they got it? Sometimes, when I
had food, other thieves beat me and took it. What did it matter how I got my
food? It was still taken from me."
Elend paused. "You know, sometimes I wonder what the political
theorists I've read would say if they met you. I have a feeling they'd throw
up their hands in frustration."
She poked him in the side. "Enough politics. Tell me about the
Deepness."
"Well, I think it was a creature of some1 sort—a dark and evil thing that
nearly destroyed the world. The Lord Ruler traveled to the Well of
Ascension, where he was given the power to defeat the Deepness and unite
mankind. There are several statues in the city depicting the event."
Vin frowned. "Yes, but they never really show what the Deepness looked
like. It's depicted as a twisted lump at the Lord Ruler's feet."
"Well, the last person who actually saw the Deepness died a year ago, so
I guess we'll have to make do with the statues."
"Unless it comes back," Vin said quietly.
Elend frowned, looking at her again. "Is that what this is about, Vin?" His
face softened slightly. "Two armies aren't enough? You have to worry about
the fate of the world as well?"
Vin glanced down sheepishly, and Elend laughed, pulling her close. "Ah,
Vin. I know you're a bit paranoid—honestly, considering our situation, I'm
starting to feel the same—but I think this is one problem you don't have to
worry about. I haven't heard any reports of monstrous incarnations of evil
rampaging across the land."
Vin nodded, and Elend leaned back a bit, obviously assuming that he'd
answered her question.
The Hero of Ages traveled to the Well of Ascension to defeat the
Deepness, she thought. But the prophecies all said that the Hero shouldn't
take the Well's power for himself. He was supposed to give it, trust in the
power itself to destroy the Deepness.
Rashek didn't do that—he took the power for himself. Wouldn't that mean
that the Deepness was never defeated? Why, then, wasn't the world
destroyed?
"The red sun and brown plants," Vin said. "Did the Deepness do that?"
"Still thinking about that?" Elend frowned. "Red sun and brown plants?
What other colors would they be?"
"Kelsier said that the sun was once yellow, and plants were green."
"That's an odd image."
"Sazed agrees with Kelsier," Vin said. "The legends all say that during
the early days of the Lord Ruler, the sun changed colors, and ash began to
fall from the skies."
"Well," Elend said, "I guess the Deepness could have had something to
do with it. I don't know, honestly." He sat musingly for a few moments.
"Green plants? Why not purple or blue? So odd. . .."
The Hero of Ages traveled north, to the Well of Ascension, Vin thought
again. She turned slightly, her eyes drawn toward the Terris mountains so
far away. Was it still up there? The Well of Ascension?
"Did you have any luck getting information out of OreSeur?" Elend
asked. "Anything to help us find the spy?"
Vin shrugged. "He told me that kandra can't use Allomancy."
"So, you can find our impostor that way?" Elend said, perking up.
"Maybe," Vin said. "I can test Spook and Ham, at least. Regular people
will be more difficult—though kandra can't be Soothed, so maybe that will
let me find the spy."
"That sounds promising," Elend said.
Vin nodded. The thief in her, the paranoid girl that Elend always teased,
itched to use Allomancy on him—to test him, to see if he reacted to her
Pushes and Pulls. She stopped herself. This one man she would trust. The
others she would test, but1 she would not question Elend. In a way, she'd
rather trust him and be wrong than deal with the worry of mistrust.
I finally understand, she thought with a start. Kelsier. I understand what
it was like for you with Mare. I won't make your same mistake.
Elend was looking at her.
"What?" she asked.
"You're smiling," he said. "Do I get to hear the joke?"
She hugged him. "No," she said simply.
Elend smiled. "All right then. You can test Spook and Ham, but I'm
pretty sure the impostor isn't one of the crew—I talked to them all today,
and they were all themselves. We need to search the palace staff."
He doesn't know how good kandra can be. The enemy kandra had
probably studied his victim for months and months, learning and
memorizing their every mannerism.
"I've spoken to Ham and Demoux," Elend said. "As members of the
palace guard, they know about the bones—and Ham was able to guess what
they were. Hopefully, they can sort through the staff with minimal
disturbance and locate the impostor."
Vin's senses itched at how trusting Elend was. No, she thought. Let him
assume the best. He has enough to worry about. Besides, perhaps the
kandra is imitating someone outside our core team. Elend can search that
avenue.
And, if the impostor is a member of the crew. . .Well, that's the sort of
situation where my paranoia comes in handy.
"Anyway," Elend said, standing. "I have a few things to check on before
it gets too late."
Vin nodded. He gave her a long kiss, then left. She sat on the table for a
few moments longer, not looking at the massive rose window, but at the
smaller window to the side, which she'd left slightly open. It stood, a
doorway into the night. Mist churned in the blackness, tentatively sending
tendrils into the room, evaporating quietly in the warmth.
"I will not fear you," Vin whispered. "And I will find your secret." She
climbed off the table and slipped out the window, back out to meet with
OreSeur and do another check of the palace grounds.
I had determined that Alendi was the Hero of Ages, and I intended to
prove it. I should have bowed before the will of the others; I shouldn't have
insisted on traveling with Alendi to witness his journeys.
It was inevitable that Alendi himself would find out what I believed him
to be.
15
ON THE EIGHTH DAY OUT of the Conventical, Sazed awoke to find
himself alone.
He stood, pushing off his blanket and the light film of ash that had fallen
during the night. Marsh's place beneath the tree's canopy was empty, though
a patch of bare earth indicated where the Inquisitor had slept.
Sazed stood, following Marsh's footsteps out into the harsh red sunlight.
The ash was deeper here, without the cover of trees, and there was also
more wind blowing it into drifts. Sazed regarded the windswept landscape.
There was no further sign of Marsh.
Sazed returned to camp. The trees here—in the middle of the Eastern
Dominance—rose twisted and knotted, but they had shelflike, overlapping
branches, thick with brown needles. These provide1d decent shelter, though
the ash seemed capable of infiltrating any sanctuary.
Sazed made a simple soup for breakfast. Marsh did not return. Sazed
washed his brown travel robes in a nearby stream. Marsh did not return.
Sazed sewed a rent in his sleeve, oiled his walking boots, and shaved his
head. Marsh did not return. Sazed got out the rubbing he'd made in the
Conventical, transcribed a few words, then forced himself to put the sheet
away—he worried about blurring the words by opening it too often or by
getting ash on it. Better to wait until he could have a proper desk and clean
room.
Marsh did not return.
Finally, Sazed left. He couldn't define the sense of urgency that he felt—
part excitement to share what he had learned, part desire to see how Vin and
the young king Elend Venture were handling events in Luthadel.
Marsh knew the way. He would catch up.
Sazed raised his hand, shading his eyes against the red sunlight, looking
down from his hilltop vantage. There was a slight darkness on the horizon,
to the east of the main road. He tapped his geography coppermind, seeking
out descriptions of the Eastern Dominance.
The knowledge swelled his mind, blessing him with recollection. The
darkness was a village named Urbene. He searched through one of his
indexes, looking for the right gazetteer. The index was growing fuzzy, its
information difficult to remember—which meant that he'd switched it from
coppermind to memory and back too many times. Knowledge inside a
coppermind would remain pristine, but anything inside his head—even for
only a few moments—would decay. He'd have to re-memorize the index
later.
He found what he was looking for, and dumped the right memories into
his head. The gazetteer listed Urbene as "picturesque," which probably
meant that some important nobleman had decided to make his manor there.
The listing said that the skaa of Urbene were herdsmen.
Sazed scribbled a note to himself, then redeposited the gazetteer's
memories. Reading the note told him what he had just forgotten. Like the
index, the gazetteer memories had inevitably decayed slightly during their
stay in his head. Fortunately, he had a second set of copperminds hidden
back up in Terris, and would use those to pass his knowledge on to another
Keeper. His current copperminds were for everyday use. Unapplied
knowledge benefited no one.
He shouldered his pack. A visit to the village would do him some good,
even if it slowed him down. His stomach agreed with the decision. It was
unlikely the peasants would have much in the way of food, but perhaps they
would be able to provide something other than broth. Besides, they might
have news of events at Luthadel.
He hiked down the short hill, taking the smaller, eastern fork in the road.
Once, there had been little travel in the Final Empire. The Lord Ruler had
forbidden skaa to leave their indentured lands, and only thieves and rebels
had dared disobey. Still, most of the nobility had made their livings by
trading, so a village such as this one might be accustomed to visitors.
Sazed began to notice the oddities immediately. Goats roamed the
countryside along the road, unwatched. Sazed paused, then dug a
coppermind from his pack. He searched through it as he walked. One book
on husbandry claimed that herdsmen sometimes left their flocks alone to
graze. Yet, the unwatched animals made him nervous. He quickened his
pace.
Just to the south, the skaa starve, he thought. Yet here, livestock is so
plentiful that nobody can be spare1d to keep it safe from bandits or
predators?
The small village appeared in the distance. Sazed could almost convince
himself that the lack of activity—the lack of movement in the streets, the
derelict doors and shutters swinging in the breeze—was due to his
approach. Perhaps the people were so scared that they were hiding. Or,
perhaps they simply were all out. Tending flocks. . ..
Sazed stopped. A shift in the wind brought a telltale scent from the
village. The skaa weren't hiding, and they hadn't fled. It was the scent of
rotting bodies.
Suddenly urgent, Sazed pulled out a small ring—a scent tinmind—and
slipped it on his thumb. The smell on the wind, it didn't seem like that of a
slaughter. It was a mustier, dirtier smell. A smell not only of death, but of
corruption, unwashed bodies, and waste. He reversed the use of the tinmind,
filling it instead of tapping it, and his ability to smell grew very weak—
keeping him from gagging.
He continued on, carefully entering the village proper. Like most skaa
villages, Urbene was organized simply. It had a group of ten large hovels
built in a loose circle with a well at the center. The buildings were wood,
and for thatching they used the same needle-bearing branches from the trees
he'd seen. Overseers' huts, along with a fine nobleman's manor, stood a little
farther up the valley.
If it hadn't been for the smell—and the sense of haunted emptiness—
Sazed might have agreed with his gazetteer's description of Urbene. For
skaa residences, the hovels looked well maintained, and the village lay in a
quiet hollow amid the rising landscape.
It wasn't until he got a little closer that he found the first bodies. They lay
scattered around the doorway to the nearest hovel, about a half-dozen of
them. Sazed approached carefully, but could quickly see that the corpses
were at least several days old. He knelt beside the first one, that of a
woman, and could see no visible cause of death. The others were the same.
Nervous, Sazed forced himself to reach up and pull open the door to the
hovel. The stench from inside was so strong that he could smell it through
his tinmind.
The hovel, like most, was only a single chamber. It was filled with
bodies. Most lay wrapped in thin blankets; some sat with backs pressed up
against the walls, rotting heads hanging limply from their necks. They had
gaunt, nearly fleshless bodies with withered limbs and protruding ribs.
Haunted, unseeing eyes sat in desiccated faces.
These people had died of starvation and dehydration.
Sazed stumbled from the hovel, head bowed. He didn't expect to find
anything different in the other buildings, but he checked anyway. He saw
the same scene repeated again and again. Woundless corpses on the ground
outside; many more bodies huddled inside. Flies buzzing about in swarms,
covering faces. In several of the buildings he found gnawed human bones at
the center of the room.
He stumbled out of the final hovel, breathing deeply through his mouth.
Dozens of people, over a hundred total, dead for no obvious reason. What
possibly could have caused so many of them to simply sit, hidden in their
houses, while they ran out of food and water? How could they have starved
when there were beasts running free? And what had killed those that he'd
found outside, lying in the ash? They didn't seem as emaciated as the ones
inside, though from the level of decomposition, it was difficult to tell.
I must be mistaken about the starvation, Sazed told himself. It must have
been a 1plague of some sort, a disease. That is a much more logical
explanation. He searched through his medical coppermind. Surely there
were diseases that could strike quickly, leaving their victims weakened.
And the survivors must have fled. Leaving behind their loved ones. Not
taking any of the animals from their pastures. . ..
Sazed frowned. At that moment, he thought he heard something.
He spun, drawing auditory power from his hearing tinmind. The sounds
were there—the sound of breathing, the sound of movement, coming from
one of the hovels he'd visited. He dashed forward, throwing open the door,
looking again on the sorry dead. The corpses lay where they had been
before. Sazed studied them very carefully, this time watching until he found
the one whose chest was moving.
By the forgotten gods. . .Sazed thought. The man didn't need to work hard
to feign death. His hair had fallen out, and his eyes were sunken into his
face. Though he didn't look particularly starved, Sazed must have missed
seeing him because of his dirty, almost corpselike body.
Sazed stepped toward the man. "I am a friend," he said quietly. The man
remained motionless. Sazed frowned as he walked forward and laid a hand
on the man's shoulder.
The man's eyes snapped open, and he cried out, jumping to his feet.
Dazed and frenzied, he scrambled over corpses, moving to the back of the
room. He huddled down, staring at Sazed.
"Please," Sazed said, setting down his pack. "You mustn't be afraid." The
only food he had besides broth spices was a few handfuls of meal, but he
pulled some out. "I have food."
The man shook his head. "There is no food," he whispered. "We ate it all.
Except. . .the food." His eyes darted toward the center of the room. Toward
the bones Sazed had noticed earlier. Uncooked, gnawed on, placed in a pile
beneath a ragged cloth, as if to hide them.
"I didn't eat the food," the man whispered.
"I know," Sazed said, taking a step forward. "But, there is other food.
Outside."
"Can't go outside."
"Why not?"
The man paused, then looked down. "Mist."
Sazed glanced toward the doorway. The sun was nearing the horizon, but
wouldn't set for another hour or so. There was no mist. Not now, anyway.
Sazed felt a chill. He slowly turned back toward the man. "Mist. . .during
the day?"
The man nodded.
"And it stayed?" Sazed asked. "It didn't go away after a few hours?"
The man shook his head. "Days. Weeks. All mist."
Lord Ruler! Sazed thought, then caught himself. It had been a long time
since he'd sworn by that creature's name, even in his thoughts.
But for the mist to come during the day, then to stay—if this man were to
be believed—for weeks. . .Sazed could imagine the skaa, frightened in their
hovels, a thousand years of terror, tradition, and superstition keeping them
from venturing outside.
But to remain inside until they starved? Even their fear of the mist, deepseated though it was, wouldn't have been enough to make them starve
themselves to death, would it?
"Why didn't you leave?" Sazed asked quietly.
"Some did," th1e man said, nodding as if to himself. "Jell. You know
what happened to him."
Sazed frowned. "Dead?"
"Taken by the mist. Oh, how he shook. Was a bull-headed one, you know.
Old Jell. Oh, how he shook. How he writhed when it took him."
Sazed closed his eyes. The corpses I found outside the doors.
"Some got away," the man said.
Sazed snapped his eyes open. "What?"
The crazed villager nodded again. "Some got away, you know. They
called to us, after leaving the village. Said it was all right. It didn't take
them. Don't know why. It killed others, though. Some, it shook to the
ground, but they got up later. Some it killed."
"The mist let some survive, but it killed others?"
The man didn't answer. He'd sat down, and now he lay back, staring
unfocused at the ceiling.
"Please," Sazed said. "You must answer me. Who did it kill and who did
it let pass? What is the connection?"
The man turned toward him. "Time for food," he said, then rose. He
wandered over to a corpse, then pulled on an arm, ripping the rotted meat
free. It was easy to see why he hadn't starved to death like the others.
Sazed pushed aside nausea, striding across the room and grabbing the
man's arm as he raised the near fleshless bone to his lips. The man froze,
then looked up at Sazed. "It's not mine!" he yelped, dropping the bone and
running to the back of the room.
Sazed stood for a moment. I must hurry. I must get to Luthadel. There is
more wrong with this world than bandits and armies.
The wild man watched with a feral sort of terror as Sazed picked up his
pack, then paused and set it down again. He pulled out his largest
pewtermind. He fastened the wide metal bracer to his forearm, then turned
and walked toward the villager.
"No!" the man screamed, trying to dash to the side. Sazed tapped the
pewtermind, pulling out a burst of strength. He felt his muscles enlarge, his
robes growing tight. He snatched the villager as the man ran passed, then
held him out, far enough away that the man couldn't do either of them much
harm.
Then he carried the man outside of the building.
The man stopped struggling as soon as they emerged into the sunlight.
He looked up, as if seeing the sun for the first time. Sazed set him down,
then released his pewtermind.
The man knelt, looking up at the sun, then turned to Sazed. "The Lord
Ruler. . .why did he abandon us? Why did he go?"
"The Lord Ruler was a tyrant."
The man shook his head. "He loved us. He ruled us. Now that he's gone,
the mists can kill us. They hate us."
Then, surprisingly adroit, the man leaped to his feet and scrambled down
the pathway out of the village. Sazed took a step forward, but paused. What
would he do? Pull the man all the way to Luthadel? There was water in the
well and there were animals to eat. Sazed could only hope that the poor
wretch would be able to manage.
Sighing, Sazed returned to the hovel and retrieved his pack. On his way
out, he paused, then pulled out one of his steelminds. Steel held one of the
very most difficult attributes to store up: physical speed. He had spent
months filling this particular steelmind in preparation for the possibility that
someday he might need to run somewhere very, very quickly.
He put it on now.
Yes, he was the one who fueled the rumors after that. I could never have
done what he himself did, convincing and persuading the world that he was
indeed the Hero. I don't know if he himself believed it, but he made others
think that he must be the one.
16
VIN RARELY USED HER QUARTERS. Elend had assigned her
spacious rooms—which was, perhaps, part of the problem. She'd spent her
childhood sleeping in nooks, lairs, or alleys. Having three separate
chambers was a bit daunting.
It didn't really matter, however. During her time awake she was with
either Elend or the mists. Her rooms existed for her to sleep in. Or, in this
case, for her to make a mess in.
She sat on the floor in the center of her main chamber. Elend's steward,
concerned that Vin didn't have any furniture, had insisted on decorating her
rooms. This morning, Vin had pushed some of this aside, bunching up rugs
and chairs on one side so that she could sit on the cool stones with her book.
It was the first real book she had ever owned, though it was just a
collection of pages bound loosely at one side. That suited her just fine; the
simple binding had made the book that much easier to pull apart.
She sat amid stacks of paper. It was amazing how many pages there were
in the book, once she had separated them. Vin sat next to one pile, looking
over its contents. She shook her head, then crawled over to another pile.
She leafed through the pages, eventually selecting one.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm going mad, the words read.
Perhaps it is due to the pressure of knowing that I must
somehow bear the burden of an entire world. Perhaps it is
caused by the death I have seen, the friends I have lost. The
friends I have been forced to kill.
Either way, I sometimes see shadows following me. Dark
creatures that I don't understand, nor do I wish to
understand. They are, perhaps, some figment of my
overtaxed mind?
Vin sat for a moment, rereading the paragraphs. Then she moved the
sheet over to another pile. OreSeur lay on the side of the room, head on
paws, eyeing her. "Mistress," he said as she set down the page, "I have been
watching you work for the last two hours, and will admit that I am
thoroughly confused. What is the point of all this?"
Vin crawled over to another stack of pages. "I thought you didn't care
how I spent my time."
"I don't," OreSeur said. "But I do get bored."
"And annoyed, apparently."
"I like to understand what is going on around me."
Vin shrugged, gesturing toward the stacks of paper. "This is the Lord
Ruler's logbook. Well, actually, it's not the logbook of the Lord Ruler we
knew, but the logbook of the man who should have been the Lord Ruler."
"Should have been?" OreSeur asked. "You mean he should have
conquered the world, but didn't?"
"No," Vin said. "I mean he should have been the one who took the power
at the Well of Ascension. This man, the man who wrote this book1—we
don't actually know his name—was some kind of prophesied hero. Or. .
.everyone thought he was. Anyway, the man who became the Lord Ruler—
Rashek—was this hero's packman. Don't you remember us talking about
this, back when you were imitating Renoux?"
OreSeur nodded. "I recall you briefly mentioning it."
"Well, this is the book Kelsier and I found when we infiltrated the Lord
Ruler's palace. We thought it was written by the Lord Ruler, but it turns out
it was written by the man the Lord Ruler killed, the man whose place he
took."
"Yes, Mistress," OreSeur said. "Now, why exactly are you tearing it to
pieces?"
"I'm not," Vin said. "I just took off the binding so I could move the pages
around. It helps me think."
"I. . .see," OreSeur said. "And, what exactly are you looking for? The
Lord Ruler is dead, Mistress. Last I checked, you killed him."
What am I looking for? Vin thought, picking up another page. Ghosts in
the mist.
She read the words on this page slowly.
It isn't a shadow.
This dark thing that follows me, the thing that only I can see
—it isn't really a shadow. It is blackish and translucent, but
it doesn't have a shadowlike solid outline. It's insubstantial—
wispy and formless. Like it's made out of black fog.
Or mist, perhaps.
Vin lowered the page. It watched him, too, she thought. She remembered
reading the words over a year before, thinking that the Hero must have
started to go mad. With all the pressures on him, who would have been
surprised?
Now, however, she thought she understood the nameless logbook author
better. She knew he was not the Lord Ruler, and could see him for what he
might have been. Uncertain of his place in the world, but forced into
important events. Determined to do the best he could. Idealistic, in a way.
And the mist spirit had chased him. What did it mean? What did seeing it
imply for her?
She crawled over to another pile of pages. She'd spent the morning
scanning through the logbook for clues about the mist creature. However,
she was having trouble digging out much beyond these two, familiar
passages.
She made piles of pages that mentioned anything strange or supernatural.
She made a small pile with pages that referenced the mist spirit. She also
had a special pile for references to the Deepness. This last one, ironically,
was both the largest and least informative of the group. The logbook author
had a habit of mentioning the Deepness, but not saying much about it.
The Deepness was dangerous, that much was clear. It had ravaged the
land, slaying thousands. The monster had sown chaos wherever it stepped,
bringing destruction and fear, but the armies of mankind had been unable to
defeat it. Only the Terris prophecies and the Hero of Ages had offered any
hope.
If only he had been more specific! Vin thought with frustration, riffling
papers. However, the tone of the logbook really was more melancholy than
it was informative. It was something that the Hero had written for himself,
to stay sane, to let him put his fears and hopes down on paper. Elen1d said
he wrote for similar reasons, sometimes. To Vin, it seemed a silly method of
dealing with problems.
With a sigh, she turned to the last stack of papers—the one with pages
she had yet to study. She lay down on the stone floor and began to read,
searching for useful information.
It took time. Not only was she a slow reader, but her mind kept
wandering. She'd read the logbook before—and, oddly, hints and phrases
from it reminded her of where she'd been at the time. Two years and a
world away in Fellise, still recovering from her near death at the hands of a
Steel Inquisitor, she'd been forced to spend her days pretending to be
Valette Renoux, a young, inexperienced country noblewoman.
Back then, she still hadn't believed in Kelsier's plan to overthrow the
Final Empire. She'd stayed with the crew because she valued the strange
things they offered her—friendship, trust, and lessons in Allomancy—not
because she accepted their goals. She would never have guessed where that
would lead her. To balls and parties, to actually growing—just a bit—to
become the noblewoman she had pretended to be.
But that had been a farce, a few months of make-believe. She forced her
thoughts away from the frilly clothing and the dances. She needed to focus
on practical matters.
And. . .is this practical? she thought idly, setting a page in one of the
stacks. Studying things I barely comprehend, fearing a threat nobody else
even cares to notice?
She sighed, folding her arms under her chin as she lay on her stomach.
What was she really worried about? That the Deepness would return? All
she had were a few phantom visions in the mist—things that could, as
Elend implied, have easily been fabricated by her overworked mind. More
important was another question. Assuming that the Deepness was real, what
did she expect to do about it? She was no hero, general, or leader.
Oh, Kelsier, she thought, picking up another page. We could use you now.
Kelsier had been a man beyond convention. . .a man who had somehow
been able to defy reality. He'd thought that by giving his life to overthrow
the Lord Ruler, he would secure freedom for the skaa. But, what if his
sacrifice had opened the way for a greater danger, something so destructive
that the Lord Ruler's oppression was a preferable alternative?
She finally finished the page, then placed it in the stack of those that
contained no useful information. Then she paused. She couldn't even
remember what she'd just read. She sighed, picking the page back up,
looking at it again. How did Elend do it? He could study the same books
over and over again. But, for Vin, it was hard to—
She paused. I must assume that I am not mad, the words said. I cannot,
with any rational sense of confidence, continue my quest if I do not believe
this. The thing following me must, therefore, be real.
She sat up. She only vaguely remembered this section of the logbook.
The book was organized like a diary, with sequential—but dateless—
entries. It had a tendency to ramble, and the Hero had been fond of droning
on about his insecurities. This section had been particularly dry.
But there, in the middle of his complaining, was a tidbit of information.
I believe that it would kill me, if it could, the text continued.
There is an evil feel to the thing of shadow and fog, and my
skin recoils at its touch. Yet, it seems limited in what it can
do,1 especially to me.
It can affect this world, however. The knife it placed in
Fedik's chest proves that much. I'm still not certain which
was more traumatic for him—the wound itself, or seeing the
thing that did it to him.
Rashek whispers that I stabbed Fedik myself, for only Fedik
and I can give witness to that night's events. However, I must
make a decision. I must determine that I am not mad. The
alternative is to admit that it was I who held that knife.
Somehow, knowing Rashek's opinion on the matter makes it
much easier for me to believe the opposite.
The next page continued on about Rashek, and the next several entries
contained no mention of the mist spirit. However, Vin found even these few
paragraphs exciting.
He made a decision, she thought. I have to make the same one. She'd
never worried that she was mad, but she had sensed some logic in Elend's
words. Now she rejected them. The mist spirit was not some delusion
brought on by a mixture of stress and memories of the logbook. It was real.
That didn't mean the Deepness was returning, nor did it mean that
Luthadel was in any sort of supernatural danger. Both, however, were
possibilities.
She set this page with the two others that contained concrete information
about the mist spirit, then turned back to her studies, determined to pay
closer attention to her reading.
The armies were digging in.
Elend watched from atop the wall as his plan, vague though it was, began
to take form. Straff was making a defensive perimeter to the north, holding
the canal route back a relatively short distance to Urteau, his home city and
capital. Cett was digging in to the west of the city, holding the Luth-Davn
Canal, which ran back to his cannery in Haverfrex.
A cannery. That was something Elend wished he had in the city. The
technology was newer—perhaps fifty years old—but he'd read of it. The
scholars had considered its main use that of providing easily carried
supplies for soldiers fighting at the fringes of the empire. They hadn't
considered stockpiles for sieges—particularly in Luthadel. But, then, who
would have?
Even as Elend watched, patrols began to move out from the separate
armies. Some moved to watch the boundaries between the two forces, but
others moved to secure other canal routes, bridges across the River
Channerel, and roads leading away from Luthadel. In a remarkably short
time, the city felt completely surrounded. Cut off from the world, and the
rest of Elend's small kingdom. No more moving in or out. The armies were
counting on disease, starvation, and other weakening factors to bring Elend
to his knees.
The siege of Luthadel had begun.
That's a good thing, he told himself. For this plan to work, they have to
think me desperate. They have to be so sure that I'm willing to side with
them, that they don't consider that I might be working with their enemies,
too.
As Elend watched, he noticed someone climbing up the steps to the wall.
Clubs. The general hobbled over to Elend, who had been standing alone.
"Congratulations," Clubs said. "Looks like you now have a full-blown siege
on your hands."
"Good."
"It'll give us a little breathing room, I guess," Clubs said. Then he eyed
Elend with one of his gnarled looks. "You'd better be up to this, kid."
"I know," Elend whispered.
"You've made yourself the focal point," Clubs said. "The Assembly can't
break this siege until you meet officially with Straff, and the kings aren't
likely to meet with anyone on the crew other than yourself. This is all about
you. Useful place for a king to be, I suppose. If he's a good one."
Clubs fell silent. Elend stood, looking out over the separate armies. The
words spoken to him by Tindwyl the Terriswoman still bothered him. You
are a fool, Elend Venture. . ..
So far, neither of the kings had responded to Elend's requests for a
meeting—though the crew was sure that they soon would. His enemies
would wait, to make Elend sweat a bit. The Assembly had just called
another meeting, probably to try and bully him into releasing them from
their earlier proposal. Elend had found a convenient reason to skip the
meeting.
He looked at Clubs. "And am I a good king, Clubs? In your opinion."
The general glanced at him, and Elend saw a harsh wisdom in his eyes.
"I've known worse leaders," he said. "But I've also known a hell of a lot
better."
Elend nodded slowly. "I want to be good at this, Clubs. Nobody else is
going to look after the skaa like they deserve. Cett, Straff. They'd just make
slaves of the people again. I. . .I want to be more than my ideas, though. I
want to—need to—be a man that others can look to."
Clubs shrugged. "My experience has been that the man is usually made
by the situation. Kelsier was a selfish dandy until the Pits nearly broke
him." He glanced at Elend. "Will this siege be your Pits of Hathsin, Elend
Venture?"
"I don't know," he said honestly.
"Then we'll have to wait and see, I guess. For now, someone wants to
speak with you." He turned, nodding down toward the street some forty feet
below, where a tall, feminine figure stood in colorful Terris robes.
"She told me to send you down," Clubs said. He paused, then glanced at
Elend. "It isn't often you meet someone who feels like they can order me
around. And a Terriswoman at that. I thought those Terris were all docile
and kindly."
Elend smiled. "I guess Sazed spoiled us."
Clubs snorted. "So much for a thousand years of breeding, eh?"
Elend nodded.
"You sure she's safe?" Clubs asked.
"Yes," Elend said. "Her story checks out—Vin brought in several of the
Terris people from the city, and they knew and recognized Tindwyl. She's
apparently a fairly important person back in her homeland."
Plus, she had performed Feruchemy for him, growing stronger to free her
hands. That meant she wasn't a kandra. All of it together meant that she was
trustworthy enough; even Vin admitted that, even if she continued to dislike
the Terriswoman.
Clubs nodded to him, and Elend took a deep breath. Then he walked
down the stairs to meet Tindwyl for another round of lessons.
"Today, we will do something about your clothing," Tindwyl said,
closing the door to Elend's study. A plump seamstress with bowl-cut white
hair waited insi1de, standing respectfully with a group of youthful
assistants.
Elend glanced down at his clothing. It actually wasn't bad. The suit coat
and vest fit fairly well. The trousers weren't as stiff as those favored by
imperial nobility, but he was the king now; shouldn't he be able to set the
trends?
"I don't see what's wrong with it," he said. He held up a hand as Tindwyl
began to speak. "I know it's not quite as formal as what other men like to
wear, but it suits me."
"It's disgraceful," Tindwyl said.
"Now, I hardly see—"
"Don't argue with me."
"But, see, the other day you said that—"
"Kings don't argue, Elend Venture," Tindwyl said firmly. "They
command. And, part of your ability to command comes from your bearing.
Slovenly clothing invites other slovenly habits—such as your posture,
which I've already mentioned, I believe."
Elend sighed, rolling his eyes as Tindwyl snapped her fingers. The
seamstress and her assistants started unpacking a pair of large trunks.
"This isn't necessary," Elend said. "I already have some suits that fit more
snugly; I wear them on formal occasions."
"You're not going to wear suits anymore," Tindwyl said.
"Excuse me?"
Tindwyl eyed him with a commanding stare, and Elend sighed.
"Explain yourself!" he said, trying to sound commanding.
Tindwyl nodded. "You have maintained the dress code preferred by the
nobility sanctioned by the Final Emperor. In some respects, this was a good
idea—it gave you a connection to the former government, and made you
seem less of a deviant. Now, however, you are in a different position. Your
people are in danger, and the time for simple diplomacy is over. You are at
war. Your dress should reflect that."
The seamstress selected a particular costume, then brought it over to
Elend while the assistants set up a changing screen.
Elend hesitantly accepted the costume. It was stiff and white, and the
front of the jacket appeared to button all the way up to a rigid collar. All and
all, it looked like. . .
"A uniform," he said, frowning.
"Indeed," Tindwyl said. "You want your people to believe that you can
protect them? Well, a king isn't simply a lawmaker—he's a general. It is
time you began to act like you deserve your title, Elend Venture."
"I'm no warrior," Elend said. "This uniform is a lie."
"The first point we will soon change," Tindwyl said. "The second is not
true. You command the armies of the Central Dominance. That makes you a
military man whether or not you know how to swing a sword. Now, go
change."
Elend acceded with a shrug. He walked around the changing screen,
pushed aside a stack of books to make room, then began to change. The
white trousers fit snugly and fell straight around the calves. While there was
a shirt, it was completely obscured by the large, stiff jacket—which had
military shoulder fittings. It had an array of buttons—all of which, he
noticed, were wood instead of metal—as well as a strange shieldlike design
over the right breast. It seemed to have some sort of arrow, or perhaps spear,
emblazoned in it.
Stiffne1ss, cut, and design considered, Elend was surprised how well the
uniform fit. "It's sized quite well," he noted, putting on the belt, then pulling
down the bottom of the jacket, which came all the way to his hips.
"We got your measurements from your tailor," Tindwyl said.
Elend stepped around the changing screen, and several assistants
approached. One politely motioned for him to step into a pair of shiny black
boots, and the other attached a white cape to fastenings at his shoulders.
The final assistant handed him a polished hardwood dueling cane and
sheath. Elend hooked it onto the belt, then pulled it through a slit in the
jacket so it hung outside; that much, at least, he had done before.
"Good," Tindwyl said, looking him up and down. "Once you learn to
stand up straight, that will be a decent improvement. Now, sit."
Elend opened his mouth to object, but thought better of it. He sat down,
and an assistant approached to attach a sheet around his shoulders. She then
pulled out a pair of shears.
"Now, wait," Elend said. "I see where this is going."
"Then voice an objection," Tindwyl said. "Don't be vague!"
"All right, then," Elend said. "I like my hair."
"Short hair is easier to care for than long hair," Tindwyl said. "And you
have proven that you cannot be trusted in the area of personal grooming."
"You aren't cutting my hair," Elend said firmly.
Tindwyl paused, then nodded. The apprentice backed away, and Elend
stood, pulling off the sheet. The seamstress produced a large mirror, and
Elend walked forward to inspect himself.
And froze.
The difference was surprising. All his life, he'd seen himself as a scholar
and socialite, but also as just a bit of a fool. He was Elend—the friendly,
comfortable man with the funny ideas. Easy to dismiss, perhaps, but
difficult to hate.
The man he saw now was no dandy of the court. He was a serious man—
a formal man. A man to be taken seriously. The uniform made him want to
stand up straighter, to rest one hand on the dueling cane. His hair—slightly
curled, long on the top and sides, and blown loose by the wind atop the city
wall—didn't fit.
Elend turned. "All right," he said. "Cut it."
Tindwyl smiled, then nodded for him to sit. He did so, waiting quietly
while the assistant worked. When he stood again, his head matched the suit.
It wasn't extremely short, not like Ham's hair, but it was neat and precise.
One of the assistants approached and handed him a loop of silver-painted
wood. He turned to Tindwyl, frowning.
"A crown?" he asked.
"Nothing ostentatious," Tindwyl said. "This is a more subtle era than
some of those gone by. The crown isn't a symbol of your wealth, but of your
authority. You will wear it from now on, whether you are in private or in
public."
"The Lord Ruler didn't wear a crown."
"The Lord Ruler didn't need to remind people that he was in charge,"
Tindwyl said.
Elend paused, then slipped on the crown. It bore no gemstones or
ornamentation; it was just a simple coronet. As he might have expected, it
fit perfectly.
He turned back toward Tindwyl, who waved for the seamstress to pack
up and leave.1 "You have six uniforms like this one waiting for you in your
rooms," Tindwyl said. "Until this siege is over, you will wear nothing else.
If you want variety, change the color of the cape."
Elend nodded. Behind him, the seamstress and her assistants slipped out
the door. "Thank you," he told Tindwyl. "I was hesitant at first, but you are
right. This makes a difference."
"Enough of one to deceive people for now, at least," Tindwyl said.
"Deceive people?"
"Of course. You didn't think that this was it, did you?"
"Well. . ."
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. "A few lessons, and you think you're
through? We've barely begun. You are still a fool, Elend Venture—you just
don't look like one anymore. Hopefully, our charade will begin reversing
some of the damage you've done to your reputation. However, it is going to
take a lot more training before I'll actually trust you to interact with people
and not embarrass yourself."
Elend flushed. "What do you—" He paused. "Tell me what you plan to
teach me, then."
"Well, you need to learn how to walk, for one thing."
"Something's wrong with the way I walk?"
"By the forgotten gods, yes!" Tindwyl said, sounding amused, though no
smile marred her lips. "And your speech patterns still need work. Beyond
that, of course, there is your inability to handle weapons."
"I've had some training," Elend said. "Ask Vin—I rescued her from the
Lord Ruler's palace the night of the Collapse!"
"I know," Tindwyl said. "And, from what I've heard, it was a miracle you
survived. Fortunately, the girl was there to do the actual fighting. You
apparently rely on her quite a bit for that sort of thing."
"She's Mistborn."
"That is no excuse for your slovenly lack of skill," Tindwyl said. "You
cannot always rely on your woman to protect you. Not only is it
embarrassing, but your people—your soldiers—will expect you to be able
to fight with them. I doubt you will ever be the type of leader who can lead
a charge against the enemy, but you should at least be able to handle
yourself if your position gets attacked."
"So, you want me to begin sparring with Vin and Ham during their
training sessions?"
"Goodness, no! Can't you imagine how terrible it would be for morale if
the men saw you being beaten up in public?" Tindwyl shook her head. "No,
we'll have you trained discreetly by a dueling master. Given a few months,
we should have you competent with the cane and the sword. Hopefully, this
little siege of yours will last that long before the fighting starts."
Elend flushed again. "You keep talking down to me. It's like I'm not even
king in your eyes—like you see me as some kind of placeholder."
Tindwyl didn't answer, but her eyes glinted with satisfaction. You said it,
not I, her expression seemed to say.
Elend flushed more deeply.
"You can, perhaps, learn to be a king, Elend Venture," Tindwyl said.
"Until then, you'll just have to learn to fake it."
Elend's angry response was cut off by a knock at the door. Elend gritted
his teeth, turning. "Come in."
The door swung open. "There's news," Captain 1Demoux said, his
youthful face excited as he entered. "I—" He froze.
Elend cocked his head. "Yes?"
"I. . .uh. . ." Demoux paused, looked Elend over again before continuing.
"Ham sent me, Your Majesty. He says that a messenger from one of the
kings has arrived."
"Really?" Elend said. "From Lord Cett?"
"No, Your Majesty. The messenger is from your father."
Elend frowned. "Well, tell Ham I'll be there in a moment."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Demoux said, retreating. "Uh, I like the new
uniform, Your Majesty."
"Thank you, Demoux," Elend said. "Do you, by chance, know where
Lady Vin is? I haven't seen her all day."
"I think she's in her quarters, Your Majesty."
Her quarters? She never stays there. Is she sick?
"Do you want me to summon her?" Demoux asked.
"No, thank you," Elend said. "I'll get her. Tell Ham to make the
messenger comfortable."
Demoux nodded, then withdrew.
Elend turned to Tindwyl, who was smiling to herself with a look of
satisfaction. Elend brushed by her, walking over to grab his notebook. "I'm
going to learn to do more than just 'fake' being king, Tindwyl."
"We'll see."
Elend shot a glance at the middle-aged Terriswoman in her robes and
jewelry.
"Practice expressions like that one," Tindwyl noted, "and you just might
do it."
"Is that all it is, then?" Elend asked. "Expressions and costumes? Is that
what makes a king?"
"Of course not."
Elend stopped by the door, turning back. "Then, what does? What do you
think makes a man a good king, Tindwyl of Terris?"
"Trust," Tindwyl said, looking him in the eyes. "A good king is one who
is trusted by his people—and one who deserves that trust."
Elend paused, then nodded. Good answer, he acknowledged, then pulled
open the door and rushed out to find Vin.
If only the Terris religion, and belief in the Anticipation, hadn't spread
beyond our people.
17
THE PILES OF PAPER SEEMED to multiply as Vin found more and
more ideas in the logbook that she wanted to isolate and remember. What
were the prophecies about the Hero of Ages? How did the logbook author
know where to go, and what did he think he'd have to do when he got there?
Eventually, lying amid the mess—overlapping piles turned in odd
directions to keep them separate—Vin acknowledged a distasteful fact. She
was going to have to take notes.
With a sigh, she rose and crossed the room, stepping carefully over
several stacks and approaching the room's desk. She'd never used it before;
in fact, she'd complained about it to Elend. What need did she have of a
writing desk?
So she'd thought. She selected a pen, then pulled out a little jar of ink,
remembering the days when Reen had taught her to write. He'd quickly
grown frustrated with her scratchings, complaining about the co1st of ink
and paper. He'd taught her to read so that she could decipher contracts and
imitate a noblewoman, but he'd thought that writing was less useful. In
general, Vin shared this opinion.
Apparently, however, writing had uses even if one wasn't a scribe. Elend
was always scribbling notes and memos to himself; she'd often been
impressed by how quickly he could write. How did he make the letters
come so easily?
She grabbed a couple of blank sheets of paper and walked back over to
her sorted piles. She sat down with crossed legs and unscrewed the top of
the ink bottle.
"Mistress," OreSeur noted, still lying with his paws before him, "you do
realize that you just left the writing desk behind to sit on the floor."
Vin looked up. "And?"
"The purpose of a writing desk is, well, writing."
"But my papers are all over here."
"Papers can be moved, I believe. If they prove too heavy, you could
always burn pewter to give yourself more strength."
Vin eyed his amused face as she inked the nib of her pen. Well, at least
he's displaying something other than his dislike of me. "The floor is more
comfortable."
"If you say so, Mistress, I will believe it to be true."
She paused, trying to determine if he was still mocking her or not.
Blasted dog's face, she thought. Too hard to read.
With a sigh, she leaned down and began to write out the first word. She
had to make each line precisely so that the ink didn't smudge, and she had
to pause often to sound out words and find the right letters. She'd barely
written a couple of sentences before a knock came at her door. She looked
up with a frown. Who was bothering her?
"Come in," she called.
She heard a door open in the other room, and Elend's voice called out.
"Vin?"
"In here," she said, turning back to her writing. "Why did you knock?"
"Well, you might have been changing," he said, entering.
"So?" Vin asked.
Elend chuckled. "Two years, and privacy is still a strange concept to
you."
Vin looked up. "Well, I did—"
For just the briefest flash of a moment, she thought he was someone else.
Her instincts kicked in before her brain, and she reflexively dropped the
pen, jumping up and flaring pewter.
Then she stopped.
"That much of a change, eh?" Elend asked, holding out his arms so she
could get a better look at his costume.
Vin put a hand to her chest, so shocked that she stepped right on one of
her stacks. It was Elend, but it wasn't. The brilliant white costume, with its
sharp lines and firm figure, looked so different from his normal loose jacket
and trousers. He seemed more commanding. More regal.
"You cut your hair," she said, walking around him slowly, studying the
costume.
"Tindwyl's idea," he said. "What do you think?"
"Less for people to grab on to in a fight," Vin said.
Elend smiled. "Is that all you think about?"
"No,"1 Vin said absently, reaching up to tug his cape. It came free easily,
and she nodded approvingly. Mistcloaks were the same; Elend wouldn't
have to worry about someone grabbing his cape in a fight.
She stepped back, arms folded. "Does this mean I can cut my hair, too?"
Elend paused just briefly. "You're always free to do what you want, Vin.
But, I kind of think it's pretty longer."
It stays, then.
"Anyway," Elend said. "You approve?"
"Definitely," Vin said. "You look like a king." Though, she suspected a
part of her would miss the tangle-haired, disheveled Elend. There had been
something. . .endearing about that mixture of earnest competence and
distracted inattention.
"Good," Elend said. "Because I think we're going to need the advantage.
A messenger just. . ." He trailed off, looking over her stacks of paper. "Vin?
Were you doing research?"
Vin flushed. "I was just looking through the logbook, trying to find
references to the Deepness."
"You were!" Elend stepped forward excitedly. To her chagrin, he quickly
located the paper with her fledgling notes on it. He held the paper up, then
looked over at her. "Did you write this?"
"Yes," she said.
"Your penmanship is beautiful," he said, sounding a bit surprised. "Why
didn't you tell me you could write like this?"
"Didn't you say something about a messenger?"
Elend put the sheet back down, looking oddly like a proud parent. "Right.
A messenger from my father's army has arrived. I'm making him wait for a
bit—it didn't seem wise to appear too eager. But, we should probably go
meet with him."
Vin nodded, waving to OreSeur. The kandra rose and padded to her side,
and the three of them left her quarters.
That was one nice thing about books and notes. They could always wait
for another time.
They found the messenger waiting in the third-floor Venture atrium. Vin
and Elend walked in, and she stopped immediately.
It was him. The Watcher.
Elend stepped forward to meet the man, and Vin grabbed his arm. "Wait,"
she hissed quietly.
Elend turned, confused.
If that man has atium, Vin thought with a stab of panic, Elend is dead.
We're all dead.
The Watcher stood quietly. He didn't look much like a messenger or
courier. He wore all black, even a pair of black gloves. He wore trousers
and a silken shirt, with no cloak or cape. She remembered that face. It was
him.
But. . .she thought, if he'd wanted to kill Elend, he could have done so
already. The thought frightened her, yet she had to admit it was true.
"What?" Elend asked, standing in the doorway with her.
"Be careful," she whispered. "This is no simple messenger. That man is
Mistborn."
Elend paused, frowning. He turned back toward the Watcher, who stood
quietly, clasping his hands behind his back, looking confident. Yes, he was
Mistborn; only a man such as he could walk into an enemy palace,
completely surrounded by guards, and not be the slightest bit unsettled.
"All right," Elend said, finally stepping into the room. "Straff's man. You
bring a message for me?"
"Not just a message, Your Majesty," the Watcher said. "My name is Zane,
and I am something of an. . .ambassador. Your father was very pleased to
receive your invitation for an alliance. He's glad that you are finally seeing
reason."
Vin studied the Watcher, this "Zane." What was his game? Why come
himself? Why reveal who he was?
Elend nodded, keeping a distance from Zane. "Two armies," Elend said,
"camped outside my door. . .well, that's not the kind of thing I can ignore.
I'd like to meet with my father and discuss possibilities for the future."
"I think he would enjoy that," Zane said. "It has been some time since he
saw you, and he has long regretted your falling-out. You are, after all, his
only son."
"It's been hard on both of us," Elend said. "Perhaps we could set up a tent
in which to meet outside the city?"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Zane said. "His Majesty rightly fears
assassins. If you wish to speak with him, he'd be happy to host you at his
tent in the Venture camp."
Elend frowned. "Now, I don't think that makes much sense. If he fears
assassins, shouldn't I?"
"I'm certain he could protect you in his own camp, Your Majesty," Zane
said. "You have nothing to fear from Cett's assassins there."
"I. . .see," Elend said.
"I'm afraid that His Majesty was quite firm on this point," Zane said.
"You are the one who is eager for an alliance—if you wish a meeting, you
will have to come to him."
Elend glanced at Vin. She continued to watch Zane. The man met her
eyes, and spoke. "I have heard reports of the beautiful Mistborn who
accompanies the Venture heir. She who slew the Lord Ruler, and was
trained by the Survivor himself."
There was silence in the room for a moment.
Elend finally spoke. "Tell my father that I will consider his offer."
Zane finally turned away from Vin. "His Majesty was hoping for us to set
a date and time, Your Majesty."
"I will send another message when I have made my decision," Elend said.
"Very well," Zane said, bowing slightly, though he used the move to
catch Vin's eyes once again. Then he nodded once to Elend, and let the
guards escort him away.
In the cold mist of early evening, Vin waited on the short wall of Keep
Venture, OreSeur sitting at her side.
The mists were quiet. Her thoughts were far less serene.
Who else would he work for? she thought. Of course he's one of Straff's
men.
That explained many things. It had been quite a while since their last
encounter; Vin had begun to think that she wouldn't see the Watcher again.
Would they spar again, then? Vin tried to suppress her eagerness, tried to
tell herself that she simply wanted to find this Watcher because of the threat
he posed. But, the thrill of another fight in the mists—another chance to test
her abilities against a Mistborn—made her tense with anticipation.
She didn't know him, and she certainly didn't trust him. That only made
the prospect of a fight a1ll the more exciting.
"Why are we waiting here, Mistress?" OreSeur asked.
"We're just on patrol," Vin said. "Watching for assassins or spies. Just
like every night."
"Do you command me to believe you, Mistress?"
Vin shot him a flat stare. "Believe as you wish, kandra."
"Very well," OreSeur said. "Why did you not tell the king that you've
been sparring with this Zane?"
Vin turned back toward the dark mists. "Assassins and Allomancers are
my concern, not Elend's. No need to worry him yet—he has enough
troubles at the moment."
OreSeur sat back on his haunches. "I see."
"You don't believe I'm right?"
"I believe as I wish," OreSeur said. "Isn't that what you just commanded
me, Mistress?"
"Whatever," Vin said. Her bronze was on, and she had to try very hard
not to think about the mist spirit. She could feel it waiting in the darkness to
her right. She didn't look toward it.
The logbook never did mention what became of that spirit. It nearly killed
one of the Hero's companions. After that, there was barely a mention of it.
Problems for another night, she thought as another source of Allomancy
appeared to her bronze senses. A stronger, more familiar source.
Zane.
Vin hopped up onto the battlements, nodded farewell to OreSeur, then
jumped out into the night.
Mist twisted in the sky, different breezes forming silent streams of white,
like rivers in the air. Vin skimmed them, burst through them, and rode them
like a bouncing stone cast upon the waters. She quickly reached the place
where she and Zane had last parted, the lonely abandoned street.
He waited in the center, still wearing black. Vin dropped to the cobbles
before him in a flurry of mistcloak tassels. She stood up straight.
He never wears a cloak. Why is that?
The two stood opposite one another for a few silent moments. Zane had
to know of her questions, but he offered no introduction, greeting, or
explanation. Eventually, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a coin. He
tossed it to the street between them, and it bounced—metal ringing against
stone—and came to a stop.
He jumped into the air. Vin did likewise, both Pushing against the coin.
Their separate weights nearly canceled each other out, and they shot up and
back, like the two arms of a "V."
Zane spun, throwing a coin behind him. It slammed against the side of a
building and he Pushed, throwing himself toward Vin. Suddenly, she felt a
force slam against her coin pouch, threatening to toss her back down to the
ground.
What is the game tonight, Zane? she thought even as she yanked the tie
on her pouch, dropping it free from her belt. She Pushed against it, and it
shot downward, forced by her weight. When it hit the ground, Vin had the
better upward force: she was Pushing against the pouch from directly
above, while Zane was only pushing from the side. Vin lurched upward,
streaking past Zane in the cool night air, then threw her weight against the
coins in his own pocket.
Zane began to drop. However, he grabbed the coins—keeping them from
ripping free—and Pushed d1own on her pouch. He froze in the air—Vin
Pushing him from above, his own Push forcing him upward. And, because
he stopped, Vin's Push suddenly threw her backward.
Vin let go of Zane and allowed herself to drop. Zane, however, didn't let
himself fall. He Pushed himself back up into the air, then began to bound
away, never letting his feet touch rooftops or cobblestones.
He tried to force me to the ground, Vin thought. First one to fall loses, is
that it? Still tumbling, Vin spun herself in the air. She retrieved her coin
pouch with a careful Pull, then threw it down toward the ground and Pushed
herself upward.
She Pulled the pouch back into her hand even as she flew, then jumped
after Zane, Pushing recklessly through the night, trying to catch up. In the
darkness, Luthadel seemed cleaner than it did during the day. She couldn't
see the ash-stained buildings, the dark refineries, the haze of smoke from
the forges. Around her, the empty keeps of the old high nobility watched
like silent monoliths. Some of the majestic buildings had been given to
lesser nobles, and others had become government buildings. The rest—after
being plundered at Elend's command—lay unused, their stained-glass
windows dark, their vaultings, statues, and murals ignored.
Vin wasn't certain if Zane purposely headed to Keep Hasting, or if she
simply caught up to him there. Either way, the enormous structure loomed
as Zane noticed her proximity and turned, throwing a handful of coins at
her.
Vin Pushed against them tentatively. Sure enough, as soon as she touched
them, Zane flared steel and Pushed harder. If she'd been Pushing hard, the
force of his attack would have thrown her backward. As it was, she was
able to deflect the coins to her sides.
Zane immediately Pushed against her coin pouch again, throwing himself
upward along one of Keep Hasting's walls. Vin was ready for this move as
well. Flaring pewter, she grabbed the pouch in a two-handed grip and
ripped it in half.
Coins sprayed beneath her, shooting toward the ground under the force of
Zane's Push. She selected one and Pushed herself, gaining lift as soon as it
hit the ground. She spun, facing upward, her tin-enhanced ears hearing a
shower of metal hit the stones far below. She'd still have access to the coins,
but she didn't have to carry them on her body.
She shot up toward Zane, one of the keep's outer towers looming in the
mists to her left. Keep Hasting was one of the finest in the city. It had a
large tower at the center—tall, imposing, wide—with a ballroom at the very
top. It also had six smaller towers rising equidistant around the central
structure, each one connected to it by a thick wall. It was an elegant,
majestic building. Somehow, she suspected that Zane had sought it out for
that reason.
Vin watched him now, his Push losing power as he got too far from the
coin anchor below. He spun directly above her, a dark figure against a
shifting sky of mist, still well below the top of the wall. Vin yanked sharply
on several coins below, Pulling them into the air in case she needed them.
Zane plummeted toward her. Vin reflexively Pushed against the coins in
his pocket, then realized that was probably what he'd wanted: it gave him
lift while forcing her down. She let go as she fell, and she soon passed the
group of coins she'd Pulled into the air. She Pulled on one, bringing it into
her hand, then Pushed on another, sending it sideways into the wall.
Vin shot to the side. Zane whooshed by her in the air, his passing
churning the mists. He soon bobbed back up—1probably using a coin from
below—and flung a double handful of coins straight at her.
Vin spun, again deflecting the coins. They shot around her, and she heard
several pling against something in the mists behind her. Another wall. She
and Zane were sparring between a pair of the keep's outer towers; there was
an angled wall to either side of them, with the central tower just a short
distance in front of them. They were fighting near the tip of an openbottomed triangle of stone walls.
Zane shot toward her. Vin reached out to throw her weight against him,
but realized with a start that he was no longer carrying any coins. He was
Pushing on something behind him, though—the same coin Vin had
slammed against the wall with her weight. She Pushed herself upward,
trying to get out of the way, but he angled upward as well.
Zane crashed into her, and they began to fall. As they spun together, Zane
grabbed her by the upper arms, holding his face close to hers. He didn't
seem angry, or even very forceful.
He just seemed calm.
"This is what we are, Vin," he said quietly. Wind and mist whipped
around them as they fell, the tassels of Vin's mistcloak writhing in the air
around Zane. "Why do you play their games? Why do you let them control
you?"
Vin placed her hand lightly against Zane's chest, then Pushed on the coin
that had been in her palm. The force of the Push lurched her free of his grip,
flipping him up and backward. She caught herself just a few feet from the
ground, Pushing against fallen coins, throwing herself upward again.
She passed Zane in the night, and saw a smile on his face as he fell. Vin
reached downward, locking on to the blue lines extending toward the
ground far below, then flared iron and Pulled against all of them at once.
Blue lines zipped around her, the coins rising and rising shooting past the
surprised Zane.
She Pulled a few choice coins into her hands. Let's see if you can stay in
the air now, Vin thought with a smile, Pushing outward, spraying the other
coins away into the night. Zane continued to fall.
Vin began to fall as well. She threw a coin to each side, then Pushed. The
coins shot into the mists, flying toward the stone walls to either side. Coins
slapped against stone, and Vin lurched to a halt in the air.
She Pushed hard, holding herself in place, anticipating a Pull from below.
If he pulls, I Pull, too, she thought. We both fall, and I keep the coins
between us in the air. He'll hit the ground first.
A coin shot past her in the air.
What! Where did he get that! She'd been sure that she'd Pushed away
every coin below.
The coin arced upward, through the mists, trailing a blue line visible to
her Allomancer's eyes. It crested the top of the wall to her right. Vin
glanced down just in time to see Zane slow, then lurch upward—Pulling on
the coin that was now held in place atop the wall by the stone railing.
He passed her with a self-satisfied look on his face.
Show-off.
Vin let go of the coin to her left while still Pushing to her right. She
lurched to the left, nearly colliding with the wall before she threw another
coin at it. She Pushed on this one, throwing herself upward and to the right.
Another coin sent her back upward to the left, and she continued to bounce
between the walls, back and forth, until she c1rested the top.
She smiled as she twisted in the air. Zane—hovering in the air above the
wall's top—nodded appreciatively as she passed. She noticed that he'd
grabbed a few of her discarded coins.
Time for a little attack myself, Vin thought.
She slammed a Push against the coins in Zane's hand, and they shot her
upward. However, Zane was still Pushing against the coin on the wall top
below, and so he didn't fall. Instead he hung in the air between the two
forces—his own Push forcing him upward, Vin's Push forcing him
downward.
Vin heard him grunt in exertion, and she Pushed harder. She was so
focused, however, that she barely saw him open his other hand and Push a
coin up toward her. She reached out to Push against it, but fortunately his
aim was off, and the coin missed her by a few inches.
Or perhaps it didn't. Immediately, the coin zipped back downward and hit
her in the back. Zane Pulled on it forcefully, and the bit of metal dug into
Vin's skin. She gasped, flaring pewter to keep the coin from cutting through
her.
Zane didn't relent. Vin gritted her teeth, but he weighed much more than
she did. She inched down toward him in the night, her Push straining to
keep the two of them apart, the coin digging painfully into her back.
Never get into a raw Pushing match, Vin, Kelsier had warned her. You
don't weigh enough—you'll lose every time.
She stopped Pushing on the coin in Zane's hand. Immediately, she fell,
Pulled by the coin on her back. She Pushed on it slightly, giving herself a
little leverage, then threw her final coin to the side. It hit at the last moment,
and Vin's Push scooted her out from between Zane and his coin.
Zane's coin snapped him in the chest, and he grunted: he had obviously
been trying to get Vin to collide with him again. Vin smiled, then Pulled
against the coin in Zane's hand.
Give him what he wants, I guess.
He turned just in time to see her slam feet-first into him. Vin spun,
feeling him crumple beneath her. She exulted in the victory, spinning in the
air above the wall walk. Then she noticed something: several faint lines of
blue disappearing into the distance. Zane had pushed all of their coins away.
Desperately, Vin grabbed one of the coins and Pulled it back. Too late,
however. She searched frantically for a closer source of metal, but all was
stone or wood. Disoriented, she hit the stone wall walk, tumbling amid her
mistcloak until she came to a halt beside the wall's stone railing.
She shook her head and flared tin, clearing her vision with a flash of pain
and other senses. Surely Zane hadn't fared better. He must have fallen as—
Zane hung a few feet away. He'd found a coin—Vin couldn't fathom how
—and was Pushing against it below him. However, he didn't shoot away.
He hovered above the wall top, just a few feet in the air, still in a half
tumble from Vin's kick.
As Vin watched, Zane rotated slowly in the air, hand outstretched beneath
him, twisting like a skilled acrobat on a pole. There was a look of intense
concentration on his face, and his muscles—all of them, arms, face, chest—
were taut. He turned in the air until he was facing her.
Vin watched with awe. It was possible to Push just slightly against a coin,
regulating the amount of force with which one was thrown backward. It was
incredibly difficult,1 however—so difficult that even Kelsier had struggled
with it. Most of the time, Mistborn simply used short bursts. When Vin fell,
for instance, she slowed herself by throwing a coin and Pushing against it
briefly—but powerfully—to counteract her momentum.
She'd never seen an Allomancer with as much control as Zane. His ability
to push slightly against that coin would be of little use in a fight; it
obviously took too much concentration. Yet, there was a grace to it, a
beauty to his movements that implied something Vin herself had felt.
Allomancy wasn't just about fighting and killing. It was about skill and
grace. It was something beautiful.
Zane rotated until he was upright, standing in a gentleman's posture.
Then he dropped to the wall walk, his feet slapping quietly against the
stones. He regarded Vin—who still lay on the stones—with a look that
lacked contempt.
"You are very skilled," he said. "And quite powerful."
He was tall, impressive. Like. . .Kelsier. "Why did you come to the
palace today?" she asked, climbing to her feet.
"To see how they treated you. Tell me, Vin. What is it about Mistborn
that makes us—despite our powers—so willing to act as slaves to others?"
"Slaves?" Vin said. "I'm no slave."
Zane shook his head. "They use you, Vin."
"Sometimes it's good to be useful."
"Those words are spoken of insecurity."
Vin paused; then she eyed him. "Where did you get that coin, at the end?
There were none nearby."
Zane smiled, then opened his mouth and pulled out a coin. He dropped it
to the stones with a pling. Vin opened her eyes wide. Metal inside a
person's body can't be affected by another Allomancer. . .. That's such an
easy trick! Why didn't I think of it?
Why didn't Kelsier think of it?
Zane shook his head. "We don't belong with them, Vin. We don't belong
in their world. We belong here, in the mists."
"I belong with those who love me," Vin said.
"Love you?" Zane asked quietly. "Tell me. Do they understand you, Vin?
Can they understand you? And, can a man love something he doesn't
understand?"
He watched her for a moment. When she didn't respond, he nodded to her
slightly, then Pushed against the coin he had dropped moments before,
throwing himself back into the mists.
Vin let him go. His words held more weight than he probably understood.
We don't belong in their world. . .. He couldn't know that she'd been
pondering her place, wondering whether she was noblewoman, assassin, or
something else.
Zane's words, then, meant something important. He felt himself to be an
outsider. A little like herself. It was a weakness in him, certainly. Perhaps
she could turn him against Straff—his willingness to spar with her, his
willingness to reveal himself, hinted at that much.
She breathed in deeply of the cool, mist air, her heart still beating quickly
from the exchange. She felt tired, yet alive, from fighting someone who
might actually be better than she was. Standing in the mists atop the wall of
an abandoned keep, she decided something.
She had to keep sparring with Zane.
If only the Deepness hadn't come when it did, providing a threat that
drove men to desperation both in action and belief.
18
"KILL HIM," GOD WHISPERED.
Zane hung quietly in the mists, looking through Elend Venture's open
balcony doors. The mists swirled around him, obscuring him from the
king's view.
"You should kill him," God said again.
In a way, Zane hated Elend, though he had never met the man before
today. Elend was everything that Zane should have been. Favored.
Privileged. Pampered. He was Zane's enemy, a block in the road to
domination, the thing that was keeping Straff—and therefore Zane—from
ruling the Central Dominance.
But he was also Zane's brother.
Zane let himself drop through the mists, falling silently to the ground
outside Keep Venture. He Pulled his anchors up into his hand—three small
bars he had been pushing on to hold himself in place. Vin would be
returning soon, and he didn't want to be near the keep when she did. She
had a strange ability to know where he was; her senses were far more keen
than any Allomancer he had ever known or fought. Of course, she had been
trained by the Survivor himself.
I would have liked to have known him, Zane thought as he moved quietly
across the courtyard. He was a man who understood the power of being
Mistborn. A man who didn't let others control him.
A man who did what had to be done, no matter how ruthless it seemed.
Or so the rumors said.
Zane paused beside the outer keep wall, below a buttress. He stooped,
removing a cobblestone, and found the message left there by his spy inside
Elend's palace. Zane retrieved it, replaced the cobblestone, then dropped a
coin and launched himself out into the night.
Zane did not slink. Nor did he creep, skulk, or cower. In fact, he didn't
even like to hide.
So, he approached the Venture army camp with a determined stride. It
seemed to him that Mistborn spent too much of their existence hiding. True,
anonymity offered some limited freedom. However, his experience had
been that it bound them more than it freed them. It let them be controlled,
and it let society pretend that they didn't exist.
Zane strode toward a guard post, where two soldiers sat beside a large
fire. He shook his head; they were virtually useless, blinded by the firelight.
Normal men feared the mists, and that made them less valuable. That wasn't
arrogance; it was a simple fact. Allomancers were more useful, and
therefore more valuable, than normal men. That was why Zane had Tineyes
watching in the darkness as well. These regular soldiers were more a
formality than anything else.
"Kill them," God commanded as Zane walked up to the guard post. Zane
ignored the voice, though it was growing more and more difficult to do so.
"Halt!" one of the guards said, lowering a spear. "Who is that?"
Zane Pushed the spear offhandedly, flipping up the tip. "Who else would
it be?" he snapped, walking into the firelight.
"Lord Zane!" the other soldier said.
"Summon the king," Zane said, passing the guard post. "Tell him to meet
me in the command tent."
"But, 1my lord," the guard said. "The hour is late. His Majesty is
probably. . ."
Zane turned, giving the guard a flat stare. The mists swirled between
them. Zane didn't even have to use emotional Allomancy on the soldier; the
man simply saluted, then rushed off into the night to do as commanded.
Zane strode through the camp. He wore no uniform or mistcloak, but
soldiers stopped and saluted as he passed. This was the way it should be.
They knew him, knew what he was, knew to respect him.
And yet, a part of him acknowledged that if Straff hadn't kept his bastard
son hidden, Zane might not be the powerful weapon that he was today. That
secrecy had forced Zane to live a life of near squalor while his half brother,
Elend, had been privileged. But it also meant that Straff had been able to
keep Zane hidden for most of his life. Even still, while rumors were
growing about the existence of Straff's Mistborn, few realized that Zane
was Straff's son.
Plus, living a harsh life had taught Zane to survive on his own. He had
become hard, and powerful. Things he suspected Elend would never
understand. Unfortunately, one side effect of his childhood was that it had
apparently driven him mad.
"Kill him," God whispered as Zane passed another guard. The voice
spoke every time he saw a person—it was Zane's quiet, constant
companion. He understood that he was insane. It hadn't really been all that
hard to determine, all things considered. Normal people did not hear voices.
Zane did.
He found insanity no excuse, however, for irrational behavior. Some men
were blind, others had poor tempers. Still others heard voices. It was all the
same, in the end. A man was defined not by his flaws, but by how he
overcame them.
And so, Zane ignored the voice. He killed when he wanted to, not when it
commanded. In his estimation, he was actually quite lucky. Other madmen
saw visions, or couldn't distinguish their delusions from reality. Zane, at
least, could control himself.
For the most part.
He Pushed on the metal clasps on the flaps of the command tent. The
flaps flipped backward, opening for him as the soldiers to either side
saluted. Zane ducked inside.
"My lord!" said the nightwatch officer of command.
"Kill him," God said. "He's really not that important."
"Paper," Zane ordered, walking to the room's large table. The officer
scrambled to comply, grabbing a stack of sheets. Zane Pulled on the nib of a
pen, flipping it across the room to his waiting hand. The officer brought the
ink.
"These are troop concentrations and night patrols," Zane said, scribbling
down some numbers and diagrams on the paper. "I observed them tonight,
while I was in Luthadel."
"Very good, my lord," the soldier said. "We appreciate your help."
Zane paused. Then he slowly continued to write. "Soldier, you are not my
superior. You aren't even my equal. I am not 'helping' you. I am seeing to
the needs of my army. Do you understand?"
"Of course, my lord."
"Good," Zane said, finishing his notes and handing the paper to the
soldier. "Now, leave—or I'll do as a friend has suggested and ram this pen
through your throat."
The soldier accepted the paper, then quickly withdrew. Zane waited
impatiently. Straff did not arrive. Finally, Zane cursed quietly an1d Pushed
open the tent flaps and strode out. Straff's tent was a blazing red beacon in
the night, well lit by numerous lanterns. Zane passed the guards, who knew
better than to bother him, and entered the king's tent.
Straff was having a late dinner. He was a tall man, brown of hair like
both his sons—the two important ones, at least. He had fine nobleman's
hands, which he used to eat with finesse. He didn't react as Zane entered.
"You're late," Straff said.
"Kill him," God said.
Zane clinched his fists. This command from the voice was the hardest to
ignore. "Yes," he said. "I'm late."
"What happened tonight?" Straff asked.
Zane glanced at the servants. "We should do this in the command tent."
Straff continued to sip his soup, staying where he was, implying that
Zane had no power to order him about. It was frustrating, but not
unexpected. Zane had used virtually the same tactic on the nightwatch
officer just moments before. He had learned from the best.
Finally, Zane sighed, taking a seat. He rested his arms on the table, idly
spinning a dinner knife as he watched his father eat. A servant approached
to ask Zane if he wanted a meal, but he waved the man away.
"Kill Straff," God commanded. "You should be in his place. You are
stronger than he is. You are more competent."
But I'm not as sane, Zane thought.
"Well?" Straff asked. "Do they have the Lord Ruler's atium or not?"
"I'm not sure," Zane said.
"Does the girl trust you?" Straff asked.
"She's beginning to," Zane said. "I did see her use atium, that once,
fighting Cett's assassins."
Straff nodded thoughtfully. He really was competent; because of him, the
Northern Dominance had avoided the chaos that prevailed in the rest of the
Final Empire. Straff's skaa remained under control, his noblemen quelled.
True, he had been forced to execute a number of people to prove that he
was in charge. But, he did what needed to be done. That was one attribute in
a man that Zane respected above all others.
Especially since he had trouble displaying it himself.
"Kill him!" God yelled. "You hate him! He kept you in squalor, forcing
you to fight for your survival as a child."
He made me strong, Zane thought.
"Then use that strength to kill him!"
Zane grabbed the carving knife off the table. Straff looked up from his
meal, then flinched just slightly as Zane sliced the flesh of his own arm. He
cut a long gash into the top of his forearm, drawing blood. The pain helped
him resist the voice.
Straff watched for a moment, then waved for a servant to bring Zane a
towel so he wouldn't get blood on the rug.
"You need to get her to use atium again," Straff said. "Elend may have
been able to gather one or two beads. We'll only know the truth if she runs
out." He paused, turning back to his meal. "Actually, what you need to do is
get her to tell you where the stash is hidden, if they even have it."
Zane sat, watching the blood seep from the gash on his forearm. "She's
more capable than you think, Father."
Straff raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you believe those stories, Zane?
The lies about her and the Lord Ruler?"
"How do you know they are lies?"
"Because of Elend," Straff said. "That boy is a fool; he only controls
Luthadel because every nobleman with half a wit in his head fled the city. If
that girl were powerful enough to defeat the Lord Ruler, I sincerely doubt
that your brother could ever have gained her loyalty."
Zane cut another slice in his arm. He didn't cut deeply enough to do any
real damage, and the pain worked as it usually did. Straff finally turned
from his meal, masking a look of discomfort. A small, twisted piece of
Zane took pleasure from seeing that look in his father's eyes. Perhaps it was
a side effect of his insanity.
"Anyway," Straff said, "did you meet with Elend?"
Zane nodded. He turned to a serving girl. "Tea," he said, waving his
uncut arm. "Elend was surprised. He wanted to meet with you, but he
obviously didn't like the idea of coming into your camp. I doubt he'll
come."
"Perhaps," Straff said. "But, don't underestimate the boy's foolishness.
Either way, perhaps now he understands how our relationship will proceed."
So much posturing, Zane thought. By sending this message, Straff took a
stand: he wouldn't be ordered about, or even inconvenienced, on Elend's
behalf.
Being forced into a siege inconvenienced you, though, Zane thought with
a smile. What Straff would have liked to do was attack directly, taking the
city without parlay or negotiations. The arrival of the second army made
that impossible. Attack now, and Straff would be defeated by Cett.
That meant waiting, waiting in a siege, until Elend saw reason and joined
with his father willingly. But, waiting was something Straff disliked. Zane
didn't mind as much. It would give him more time to spar with the girl. He
smiled.
As the tea arrived, Zane closed his eyes, then burned tin to enhance his
senses. His wounds burst to life, minor pains becoming great, shocking him
to wakefulness.
There was a part of all this he wasn't telling Straff. She is coming to trust
me, he thought. And there's something else about her. She's like me.
Perhaps. . .she could understand me.
Perhaps she could save me.
He sighed, opening his eyes and using the towel to clean his arm. His
insanity frightened him sometimes. But, it seemed weaker around Vin. That
was all he had to go on for the moment. He accepted his tea from the
serving girl—long braid, firm chest, homely features—and took a sip of the
hot cinnamon.
Straff raised his own cup, then hesitated, sniffing delicately. He eyed
Zane. "Poisoned tea, Zane?"
Zane said nothing.
"Birchbane, too," Straff noted. "That's a depressingly unoriginal move for
you."
Zane said nothing.
Straff made a cutting motion. The girl looked up with terror as one of
Straff's guards stepped toward her. She glanced at Zane, expecting some
sort of aid, but he just looked away. She yelled pathetically as the guard
pulled her off to be executed.
She wanted the chance to kill him, he thought. I told her it probably
wouldn't work.
Straff just shook his head. Though not a full Mistborn, the king was a
Tineye. Still, even for one with such an ability, sniffing birchbane amid the
cinnamon was an impressive feat.
"Zane, Zane. . ." Straff said. "What would you do if you actually
managed to kill me?"
If I actually wanted to kill you, Zane thought, I'd use that knife, not
poison. But, he let Straff think what he wished. The king expected
assassination attempts. So Zane provided them.
Straff held something up—a small bead of atium. "I was going to give
you this, Zane. But I see that we'll have to wait. You need to get over these
foolish attempts on my life. If you were ever to succeed, where would you
get your atium?"
Straff didn't understand, of course. He thought that atium was like a drug,
and assumed that Mistborn relished using it. Therefore, he thought he could
control Zane with it. Zane let the man continue in his misapprehension,
never explaining that he had his own personal stockpile of the metal.
That, however, brought him to face the real question that dominated his
life. God's whispers were returning, now that the pain was fading. And, of
all the people the voice whispered about, Straff Venture was the one who
most deserved to die.
"Why?" God asked. "Why won't you kill him?"
Zane looked down at his feet. Because he's my father, he thought, finally
admitting his weakness. Other men did what they had to. They were
stronger than Zane.
"You're insane, Zane," Straff said.
Zane looked up.
"Do you really think you could conquer the empire yourself, if you were
to kill me? Considering your. . .particular malady, do you think you could
run even a city?"
Zane looked away. "No."
Straff nodded. "I'm glad we both understand that."
"You should just attack," Zane said. "We can find the atium once we
control Luthadel."
Straff smiled, then sipped the tea. The poisoned tea.
Despite himself, Zane started, sitting up straight.
"Don't presume to think you know what I'm planning, Zane," Straff said.
"You don't understand half as much as you assume."
Zane sat quietly, watching his father drink the last of the tea.
"What of your spy?" Straff asked.
Zane lay the note on the table. "He's worried that they might suspect him.
He has found no information about the atium."
Straff nodded, setting down the empty cup. "You'll return to the city and
continue to befriend the girl."
Zane nodded slowly, then turned and left the tent.
Straff thought he could feel the birchbane already, seeping through his
veins, making him tremble. He forced himself to remain in control. Waiting
for a few moments.
Once he was sure Zane was distant, he called for a guard. "Bring me
Amaranta!" Straff ordered. "Quickly!"
The soldier rushed to do his master's bidding. Straff sat quietly, tent
rustling in the evening breeze, a puff of mist floating to the floor from the
once open flap. He burned tin, enhancing his senses. Yes. . .he could feel
the poison 1within him. Deadening his nerves. He had time, however. As
long as an hour, perhaps, and so he relaxed.
For a man who claimed he didn't want to kill Straff, Zane certainly spent
a lot of effort trying. Fortunately, Straff had a tool even Zane didn't know
about—one that came in the form of a woman. Straff smiled as his tinenhanced ears heard soft footsteps approaching in the night.
The soldiers sent Amaranta right in. Straff hadn't brought all of his
mistresses with him on the trip—just his ten or fifteen favorites. Mixed in
with the ones he was currently bedding, however, were some women that he
kept for their effectiveness rather than their beauty. Amaranta was a good
example. She had been quite attractive a decade before, but now she was
creeping up into her late twenties. Her breasts had begun to sag from
childbirth, and every time Straff looked at her, he noticed the wrinkles that
were appearing on her forehead and around her eyes. He got rid of most
women long before they reached her age.
This one, however, had skills that were useful. If Zane heard that Straff
had sent for the woman this night, he'd assume that Straff had simply
wanted to bed her. He'd be wrong.
"My lord," Amaranta said, getting down on her knees. She began to
disrobe.
Well, at least she's optimistic, Straff thought. He would have thought that
after four years without being called to his bed, she would understand.
Didn't women realize when they were too old to be attractive?
"Keep your clothing on, woman," he snapped.
Amaranta's face fell, and she laid her hands in her lap, leaving her dress
half undone, one breast exposed—as if she were trying to tempt him with
her aging nudity.
"I need your antidote," he said. "Quickly."
"Which one, my lord?" she asked. She wasn't the only herbalist Straff
kept; he learned scents and tastes from four different people. Amaranta,
however, was the best of them.
"Birchbane," Straff said. "And. . .maybe something else. I'm not sure."
"Another general potion, then, my lord?" Amaranta asked.
Straff nodded curtly. Amaranta rose, walking to his poison cabinet. She
lit the burner at the side, boiling a small pot of water as she quickly mixed
powders, herbs, and liquids. The concoction was her particular specialty—a
mixture of all of the basic poison antidotes, remedies, and reagents in her
repertoire. Straff suspected that Zane had used the birchbane to cover
something else. Whatever it was, however, Amaranta's concoction would
deal with—or at least identify—it.
Straff waited uncomfortably as Amaranta worked, still half naked. The
concoction needed to be prepared freshly each time, but it was worth the
wait. She eventually brought him a steaming mug. Straff gulped it, forcing
down the harsh liquid despite its bitterness. Immediately, he began to feel
better.
He sighed—another trap avoided—as he drank the rest of the cup to be
certain. Amaranta knelt expectantly again.
"Go," Straff ordered.
Amaranta nodded quietly. She put her arm back through the dress's
sleeve, then retreated from the tent.
Straff sat stewing, empty cup cooling in his hand. He knew he held the
edge. As long as he appeared strong before Zane, the Mistborn would
continue to do as commanded.
Probably.
1
If only I had passed over Alendi when looking for an assistant, all those
years ago.
19
SAZED UNCLASPED HIS FINAL STEELMIND. He held it up, the braceletlike
band of metal glistening in the red sunlight. To another man, it might seem
valuable. To Sazed, it was now just another empty husk—a simple steel
bracelet. He could refill it if he wished, but for the moment he didn't
consider the weight worth carrying.
With a sigh, he dropped the bracelet. It fell with a clank, tossing up a puff
of ash from the ground. Five months of storing, of spending every fifth day
drained of speed, my body moving as if impeded by a thick molasses. And
now it's all gone.
The loss had purchased something valuable, however. In just six days of
travel, using steelminds on occasion, he had traveled the equivalent of six
weeks' worth of walking. According to his cartography coppermind,
Luthadel was now a little over a week away. Sazed felt good about the
expenditure. Perhaps he'd overreacted to the deaths he'd found in the little
southern village. Perhaps there was no need for him to hurry. But, he'd
created the steelmind to be used.
He hefted his pack, which was much lighter than it had been. Though
many of his metalminds were small, they were heavy in aggregate. He'd
decided to discard some of the less valuable or less full ones as he ran. Just
like the steel bracelet, which he left sitting in the ash behind him as he went
on.
He was definitely in the Central Dominance now. He'd passed Faleast
and Tyrian, two of the northern Ashmounts. Tyrian was still just barely
visible to the south—a tall, solitary peak with a cut-off, blackened top. The
landscape had grown flat, the trees changing from patchy brown pines to
the willowy white aspens common around Luthadel. The aspens rose like
bones growing from the black soil, clumping, their ashen white bark scarred
and twisted. They—
Sazed paused. He stood near the central canal, one of the main routes to
Luthadel. The canal was empty of boats at the moment; travelers were rare
these days, even more rare than they had been during the Final Empire, for
bandits were far more common. Sazed had outrun several groups of them
during his hurried flight to Luthadel.
No, solitary travelers were rare. Armies were far more common—and,
judging from the several dozen trails of smoke he saw rising ahead of him,
he had run afoul of one. It stood directly between him and Luthadel.
He thought quietly for a moment, flakes of ash beginning to fall lightly
around him. It was midday; if that army had scouts, Sazed would have a
very difficult time getting around it. In addition, his steelminds were empty.
He wouldn't be able to run from pursuit.
And yet, an army within a week of Luthadel. . .. Whose was it, and what
threat did it pose? His curiosity, the curiosity of a scholar, prodded him to
seek a vantage from which to study the troops. Vin and the others could use
any information he gathered.
Decision made, Sazed located a hill with a particularly large stand of
aspens. He dropped his pack at the base of a tree, then pulled out an
ironmind and began to fill it. He felt the familiar sensation of decreased
weight, and he easily climbed to the top of the thin tree—his body was now
light enough that it didn't take much strength to pull himself upward.
Hanging from the very tip of the tree, Sazed tapped his tinmin1d. The
edges of his vision fuzzed, as always, but with the increased vision he could
make out details about the large group settled into a hollow before him.
He was right about it being an army. He was wrong about it being made
up of men.
"By the forgotten gods. . ." Sazed whispered, so shocked that he nearly
lost his grip. The army was organized in only the most simplistic and
primitive way. There were no tents, no vehicles, no horses. Just hundreds of
large cooking fires, each ringed with figures.
And those figures were of a deep blue. They varied greatly in size; some
were just five feet tall, others were lumbering hulks of ten feet or more.
They were both the same species, Sazed knew. Koloss. The creatures—
though similar to men in base form—never stopped growing. They simply
continued to get bigger as they aged, growing until their hearts could no
longer support them. Then they died, killed by their body's own growth
imperative.
Before they died, however, they got very large. And very dangerous.
Sazed dropped from the tree, making his body light enough that he hit the
ground softly. He hurriedly searched through his copperminds. When he
found the one he wanted, he strapped it to his upper left arm, then climbed
back up the tree.
He searched an index quickly. Somewhere, he'd taken notes on a book
about the koloss—he'd studied it trying to decide if the creatures had a
religion. He'd had someone repeat the notes back to him, so he could store
them in the coppermind. He had the book memorized, too, of course, but
placing so much information directly in his mind would ruin the—
There, he thought, recovering the notes. He tapped them from the
coppermind, filling his mind with knowledge.
Most koloss bodies gave out before they reached twenty years of age.
The more "ancient" creatures were often a massive twelve feet in height,
with stocky, powerful bodies. However, few koloss lived that long—and not
just because of heart failure. Their society—if it could be called that—was
extremely violent.
Excitement suddenly overcoming apprehension, Sazed tapped tin for
vision again, searching through the thousands of blue humanoids, trying to
get visual proof of what he'd read. It wasn't hard to find fights. Scuffles
around the fires seemed common, and, interestingly, they were always
between koloss of nearly the same size. Sazed magnified his view even
further—gripping the tree tightly to overcome the nausea—and got his first
good look at a koloss.
It was a creature of smaller size—perhaps six feet tall. It was manshaped, with two arms and legs, though its neck was hard to distinguish. It
was completely bald. The oddest feature, however, was its blue skin, which
hung loose and folded. The creature looked like a fat man might, had all his
fat been drained away, leaving the stretched skin behind.
And. . .the skin didn't seem to be connected very well. Around the
creature's red, blood-drop eyes, the skin sagged, revealing the facial
muscles. The same was true around the mouth: the skin sagged a few inches
below the chin, the lower teeth and jaw completely exposed.
It was a stomach-turning sight, especially for a man who was already
nauseated. The creature's ears hung low, flopping down beside its jawline.
Its nose was formless and loose, with no cartilage supporting it. Skin hung
baggily from the creature's arms and legs, and its only clothing was a crude
loincloth.
Sazed turned, selecting a larger crea1ture—one perhaps eight feet tall—
to study. The skin on this beast wasn't as loose, but it still didn't seem to fit
quite right. Its nose twisted at a crooked angle, pulled flat against the face
by an enlarged head that sat on a stumpy neck. The creature turned to leer at
a companion, and again, the skin around its mouth didn't quite fit: the lips
didn't close completely, and the holes around the eyes were too big, so they
exposed the muscles beneath.
Like. . .a person wearing a mask made of skin, Sazed thought, trying to
push away his disgust. So. . .their body continues to grow, but their skin
doesn't?
His thought was confirmed as a massive, ten-foot-tall beast of a koloss
wandered into the group. Smaller creatures scattered before this newcomer,
who thumped up to the fire, where several horses were roasting.
This largest creature's skin was pulled so tight it was beginning to tear.
The hairless blue flesh had ripped around the eyes, at the edges of the
mouth, and around the massive chest muscles. Sazed could see little trails
of red blood dripping from the rips. Even where the skin wasn't torn, it was
pulled taut—the nose and ears were so flat they were almost
indistinguishable from the flesh around them.
Suddenly, Sazed's study didn't seem so academic. Koloss had come to the
Central Dominance. Creatures so violent and uncontrollable that the Lord
Ruler had been forced to keep them away from civilization. Sazed
extinguished his tinmind, welcoming the return to normal vision. He had to
get to Luthadel and warn the others. If they—
Sazed froze. One problem with enhancing his vision was that he
temporarily lost the ability to see close up—so it wasn't odd that he hadn't
noticed the koloss patrol surrounding his aspens.
By the forgotten gods! He held firm to the tip of the tree, thinking
quickly. Several koloss were already pushing their way into the stand. If he
dropped to the ground, he'd be too slow to escape. As always, he wore a
pewtermind; he could easily become as strong as ten men, and maintain it
for a good amount of time. He could fight, perhaps. . ..
Yet, the koloss carried crude-looking, but massive, swords. Sazed's notes,
his memory, and his lore all agreed: Koloss were very dangerous warriors.
Strong as ten men or not, Sazed wouldn't have the skill to defeat them.
"Come down," called a deep, slurred voice from below. "Come down
now."
Sazed looked down. A large koloss, skin just beginning to stretch, stood
at the tree's base. It gave the aspen a shake.
"Come down now," the creature repeated.
The lips don't work very well, Sazed thought. He sounds like a man trying
to talk without moving his lips. He wasn't surprised that the creature could
talk; his notes mentioned that. He was, however, surprised at how calm it
sounded.
I could run, he thought. He could keep to the tops of trees, perhaps cross
the distance between patches of aspens by dropping his metalminds and
trying to ride gusts of wind. But it would be very difficult—and very
unpredictable.
And he would have to leave his copperminds—a thousand years of
history—behind.
So, pewtermind ready in case he needed strength, Sazed let go of the tree.
The koloss leader—Sazed could only assume that was what he was—
watched Sazed fall to the ground with a red-eyed stare. The creature did not
blink. Sazed wondered if it even could blink, its skin stretche1d as it was.
Sazed plunked to the ground beside the tree, then reached for his pack.
"No," the koloss snapped, grabbing the pack with an inhumanly quick
swipe of the arm. It tossed the pack to another koloss.
"I need that," Sazed said. "I will be much more cooperative if—"
"Quiet!" the koloss yelled with a rage so sudden that Sazed took a step
backward. Terrismen were tall—especially Terrismen eunuchs—and it was
very disconcerting to be dwarfed by this beastly creature, well over nine
feet in height, its skin a blackish blue, its eyes the color of the sun at dusk.
It loomed over Sazed, and he cringed in spite of himself.
Apparently, that was the proper reaction, for the lead koloss nodded and
turned away. "Come," it slurred, lumbering through the small aspen forest.
The other koloss—about seven of them—followed.
Sazed didn't want to find out what would happen if he disobeyed. He
chose a god—Duis, a god once said to watch over wearied travelers—and
said a quick, silent prayer. Then he hurried forward, staying with the pack
of koloss as they walked toward the camp.
At least they didn't kill me out of hand, Sazed thought. He'd half expected
that, considering what he'd read. Of course, even the books didn't know
much. The koloss had been kept separate from mankind for centuries; the
Lord Ruler only called upon them in times of great martial need, to quell
revolts, or to conquer new societies discovered on the inner islands. At
those times, the koloss had caused absolute destruction and slaughter—or
so the histories claimed.
Could all that have been propaganda? Sazed wondered. Maybe the
koloss aren't as violent as we assumed.
One of the koloss beside Sazed howled in sudden anger. Sazed spun as
the koloss jumped at one of its companions. The creature ignored the sword
on its back, instead punching his enemy's head with a blocky fist. The
others paused, turning to watch the fight, but none of them seemed alarmed.
Sazed watched with growing horror as the aggressor proceeded to
repeatedly pummel his enemy. The defender tried to protect himself, getting
out a dagger and managing to score a cut on the aggressor's arm. The blue
skin tore, seeping bright red blood, as the aggressor got his hands around
his opponent's thick head and twisted.
There was a snap. The defender stopped moving. The aggressor removed
the sword from his victim's back and strapped it on beside his own weapon,
then removed a small pouch that was tied beside the sword. After that, he
stood, ignoring the wound on his arm, and the group began to walk again.
"Why?" Sazed asked, shocked. "What was that for?"
The wounded koloss turned around. "I hated him," he said.
"Move!" the lead koloss snapped at Sazed.
Sazed forced himself to start walking. They left the corpse lying in the
road. The pouches, he thought, trying to find something to focus on besides
the brutality. They all carry those pouches. The koloss kept them tied to
their swords. They didn't carry the weapons in sheaths; they were simply
bound on their backs with leather straps. And tied to those straps were
pouches. Sometimes there was just one, though the two largest creatures in
the group each had several.
They look like coin pouches, Sazed thought. But, the koloss don't have an
economy. Perhaps they 1keep personal possessions in them? But what
would beasts like these value?
They entered the camp. There didn't appear to be sentries at the borders
—but, then, why would guards be necessary? It would be very difficult for
a human to sneak into this camp.
A group of smaller koloss—the five-foot-tall ones—rushed forward as
soon as the group arrived. The murderer threw his extra sword to one of
them, then pointed into the distance. He kept the pouch for himself, and the
small ones rushed off, following the road in the direction of the body.
Burial detail? Sazed wondered.
He walked uncomfortably behind his captors as they penetrated into the
camp. Beasts of all sorts were being roasted over the firepits, though Sazed
didn't think any of them had once been human. In addition, the ground
around the camp had been completely stripped of plant life, as if it had been
grazed by a group of particularly aggressive goats.
And, according to his coppermind, that wasn't far off the truth. Koloss
could, apparently, subsist on practically anything. They preferred meat, but
would eat any kind of plant—even grass, going so far as to pull it up by the
roots to eat. Some reports even spoke of them eating dirt and ash, though
Sazed found that a little difficult to believe.
He continued to walk. The camp smelled of smoke, grime, and a strange
musk that he assumed was koloss body odor. Some of the creatures turned
as he passed, watching him with steady red eyes.
It's like they only have two emotions, he thought, jumping as a fireside
koloss suddenly screamed and attacked a companion. They're either
indifferent or they're enraged.
What would it take to set them all off at once? And. . .what kind of a
disaster would they cause if that happened? He nervously revised his earlier
thoughts. No, the koloss had not been maligned. The stories he had heard—
stories of koloss running wild in the Farmost Dominance, causing
widespread destruction and death—were obviously true.
But something kept this group marginally reined in. The Lord Ruler had
been able to control the koloss, though no book explained how. Most
writers simply accepted this ability as part of what had made the Lord Ruler
God. The man had been immortal—compared with that, other powers
seemed mundane.
His immortality, however, was a trick, Sazed thought. Simply a clever
combination of Feruchemical and Allomantic powers. The Lord Ruler had
been just a normal man—albeit one with an unusual combination of
abilities and opportunities.
That being the case, how had he controlled the koloss? There was
something different about the Lord Ruler. Something more than his powers.
He did something at the Well of Ascension, something that forever changed
the world. Perhaps his ability to control the koloss came from that.
Sazed's captors ignored the occasional fights around firepits. There didn't
appear to be any female koloss in the camp—or, if there were, they were
indistinguishable from the males. Sazed did, however, notice a koloss
corpse lying forgotten near one of the fires. It had been flayed, the blue skin
ripped free.
How could any society exist like this? he thought with horror. His books
said the koloss bred and aged quickly—a fortunate situation for them,
considering the number of deaths he had already seen. Even so, it seemed to
him that this species killed too many of its members to continue.
Yet they did continue. Unfortunately. The Keeper in him believed
strongly that nothing should be lost, that every society was worth
remembering. However, the brutality of the koloss camp—the wounded
creatures who sat, ignoring the gashes in their skin, the flayed corpses along
the path, the sudden bellows of anger and subsequent murders—tested this
belief.
His captors led him around a small hillock in the land, and Sazed paused
as he saw something very unexpected.
A tent.
"Go," the lead koloss said, pointing.
Sazed frowned. There were several dozen humans outside the tent,
carrying spears and dressed like imperial guards. The tent was large, and
behind it stood a line of boxy carts.
"Go!" the koloss yelled.
Sazed did as he was told. Behind him, one of the koloss indifferently
tossed Sazed's pack toward the human guards. The metalminds inside
clinked together as they hit the ashy ground, causing Sazed to cringe. The
soldiers watched the koloss retreat with a wary eye; then one picked up the
pack. Another leveled his spear at Sazed.
Sazed held up his hands. "I am Sazed, a Keeper of Terris, once steward,
now teacher. I am not your enemy."
"Yes, well," the guard said, still watching the retreating koloss. "You're
still going to have to come with me."
"May I have my possessions back?" Sazed asked. This hollow appeared
free of koloss; apparently, the human soldiers wanted to keep their distance.
The first guard turned to his companion, who was perusing Sazed's pack.
The second guard looked up and shrugged. "No weapons. Some bracelets
and rings, maybe worth something."
"None of them are of precious metals," Sazed said. "They are the tools of
a Keeper, and are of little value to anyone but myself."
The second guard shrugged, handing the bag to the first man. Both were
of standard Central Dominance coloring—dark hair, light skin, the build
and height of those who'd had proper nutrition as children. The first guard
was the older of the two, and was obviously in charge. He took the bag
from his companion. "We'll see what His Majesty says."
Ah, Sazed thought. "Let us speak with him then."
The guard turned, pushing aside the tent door and motioning for Sazed to
enter. Sazed stepped from red sunlight into a functional—if sparsely
furnished—tent room. This main chamber was large, and contained several
more guards. Sazed had seen perhaps two dozen so far.
The lead guard walked forward and poked his head into a room at the
back. A few moments later, he waved Sazed forward and pulled back the
tent door.
Sazed entered the second chamber. The man inside wore the pants and
suit jacket of a Luthadel nobleman. He was balding—his hair reduced to a
few struggling wisps—despite his youth. He stood, tapping the side of his
leg with a nervous hand, and jumped slightly when Sazed entered.
Sazed recognized the man. "Jastes Lekal."
"King Lekal," Jastes snapped. "Do I know you, Terrisman?"
"We have not met, Your Majesty," Sazed said, "but I have had some
dealings with a friend of yours, I think. King Elend Venture of Luthadel?"
Jastes nodded absently. "My men say the koloss brought you. T1hey
found you poking around the camp?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Sazed said carefully, watching as Jastes began to
pace. This man isn't much more stable than the army he apparently leads,
he thought with dissatisfaction. "How is it that you have persuaded the
creatures to serve you?"
"You are a prisoner, Terrisman," Jastes snapped. "No questions. Did
Elend send you to spy on me?"
"I was sent by no man," Sazed said. "You happened to be in my path,
Your Majesty. I meant no harm by my observations."
Jastes paused, eyeing Sazed, before beginning to pace again. "Well, never
mind. I've been without a proper steward for some time now. You will serve
me now."
"I apologize, Your Majesty," Sazed said, bowing slightly. "But that will
not be possible."
Jastes frowned. "You're a steward—I can tell that from the robes. Is
Elend so great a master that you would deny me?"
"Elend Venture is not my master, Your Majesty," Sazed said, meeting the
young king's eyes. "Now that we are free, the Terrismen no longer call any
man master. I cannot be your servant, for I can be no man's servant. Keep
me as prisoner, if you must. But I will not serve you. I apologize."
Jastes paused again. Instead of being angry, however, he simply seemed. .
.embarrassed. "I see."
"Your Majesty," Sazed said calmly, "I realize that you commanded me to
ask no questions, so I will instead make observations. You appear to have
placed yourself in a very poor position. I know not how you control these
koloss, but I cannot help but think that your grip is tenuous. You are in
danger, and you appear intent on sharing that danger with others."
Jastes flushed. "Your 'observations' are flawed, Terrisman. I am in control
of this army. They obey me completely. How many other noblemen have
you seen gather koloss armies? None—only I have been successful."
"They do not seem very much under control, Your Majesty."
"Oh?" Jastes asked. "And did they tear you apart when they found you?
Pummel you to death for sport? Ram a stick through you and roast you over
one of their fires? No. They don't do these things because I commanded
them otherwise. It may not seem like much, Terrisman, but trust me—this is
a sign of great restraint and obedience for koloss."
"Civilization is no great achievement, Your Majesty."
"Do not try me, Terrisman!" Jastes snapped, running a hand through the
remnants of his hair. "These are koloss we speak of—we can't expect much
from them."
"And you bring them to Luthadel?" Sazed asked. "Even the Lord Ruler
feared these creatures, Your Majesty. He kept them away from cities. You
bring them to the most populated area in all of the Final Empire!"
"You don't understand," Jastes said. "I tried overtures of peace, but
nobody listens unless you have money or an army. Well, I have one, and I'll
soon have the other. I know Elend's sitting on that stash of atium—and I'm
just come to. . .to make an alliance with him."
"An alliance where you take over control of the city?"
"Bah!" Jastes said with a wave of his hand. "Elend doesn't control
Luthadel—he's just a placeholder waiting for someone more powerful to
come along. He's a good man, but he's an innocent idealist. He's going to
lose his throne to one army or another, an1d I'll give him a better deal than
Cett or Straff will, that's certain."
Cett? Straff? What kind of trouble has young Venture gotten himself into?
Sazed shook his head. "Somehow I doubt that a 'better deal' involves the
use of koloss, Your Majesty."
Jastes frowned. "You certainly are smart-mouthed, Terrisman. You're a
sign—your entire people are a sign—of what has gone wrong with the
world. I used to respect the Terris people. There's no shame in being a good
servant."
"There's often little pride in it either," Sazed said. "But, I apologize for
my attitude, Your Majesty. It is not a manifestation of Terris independence.
I have always been too free with my comments, I think. I never made the
best of stewards." Or the best of Keepers, he added to himself.
"Bah," Jastes said again, resuming his pacing.
"Your Majesty," Sazed said. "I must continue to Luthadel. There are. .
.events I need to deal with. Think what you will of my people, but you must
know that we are honest. The work I do is beyond politics and wars, thrones
and armies. It is important for all men."
"Scholars always say things like that," Jastes said. He paused. "Elend
always said things like that."
"Regardless," Sazed continued, "I must be allowed to leave. In exchange
for my freedom, I will deliver a message from you to His Majesty King
Elend, if you wish."
"I could send a messenger of my own at any time!"
"And leave yourself with one less man to protect you from the koloss?"
Sazed said.
Jastes paused just briefly.
Ah, so he does fear them. Good. At least he's not insane.
"I will be leaving, Your Majesty," Sazed said. "I do not mean to be
arrogant, but I can see that you don't have the resources to keep prisoners.
You can let me go, or you can give me to the koloss. I would be wary,
however, of letting them get into a habit of killing humans."
Jastes eyed him. "Fine," he said. "Deliver this message, then. Tell Elend
that I don't care if he knows I'm coming—I don't even care if you give our
numbers. Be sure you're accurate, though! I have over twenty thousand
koloss in this army. He can't fight me. He can't fight the others, either. But,
if I had those city walls. . .well, I could hold off both other armies for him.
Tell him to be logical. If he gives over the atium, I'll even let him keep
Luthadel. We can be neighbors. Allies."
One bankrupt of coin, the other bankrupt of common sense, Sazed
thought. "Very well, Your Majesty. I will speak with Elend. I will need the
return of my possessions, however."
The king waved a hand in annoyance, and Sazed withdrew, waiting
quietly as the lead guard entered the king's chambers again and received his
orders. As he waited for the soldiers to prepare—his pack thankfully
returned to him—Sazed thought about what Jastes had said. Cett or Straff.
Just how many forces were working on Elend to take his city?
If Sazed had wanted a quiet place to study, he'd apparently chosen the
wrong direction to run.
It wasn't until a few years later that I began to notice the signs. I knew
the prophecies—I am a Terris Worldbringer, after all. And yet, not all of us
are religious men; some, such as myself, are more interested in other topics.
However, during my time with Alendi,1 I could not help but become more
interested in the Anticipation. He seemed to fit the signs so well.
20
"THIS IS GOING TO BE dangerous, Your Majesty," Dockson said.
"It's our only option," Elend said. He stood behind his table; it was, as
usual, stacked with books. He was backlit by the study's window, and its
colors fell upon the back of his white uniform, dyeing it a brilliant maroon.
He certainly does look more commanding in that outfit, Vin thought,
sitting in Elend's plush reading chair, OreSeur resting patiently on the floor
beside her. She still wasn't sure what to think of the changes in Elend. She
knew the alterations were mostly visual—new clothing, new haircut—but
other things about him seemed to be changing as well. He stood up
straighter when he spoke, and was more authoritative. He was even training
in the sword and the cane.
Vin glanced at Tindwyl. The matronly Terriswoman sat in a stiff chair at
the back of the room, watching the proceedings. She had perfect posture,
and was ladylike in her colorful skirt and blouse. She didn't sit with her legs
folded beneath her, as Vin currently did, and she'd never wear trousers.
What is it about her? Vin thought. I've spent a year trying to get Elend to
practice his swordsmanship. Tindwyl's been here less than a month, and she
already has him sparring.
Why did Vin feel bitter? Elend wouldn't change that much, would he?
She tried to quiet the little piece of her that worried about this new
confident, well-dressed warrior of a king—worried that he would turn out
to be different from the man she loved.
What if he stopped needing her?
She pulled down into the chair just a little bit farther as Elend continued
to speak with Ham, Dox, Clubs, and Breeze.
"El," Ham said, "you realize that if you go into the enemy camp, we
won't be able to protect you."
"I'm not sure you can protect me here, Ham," Elend said. "Not with two
armies camped practically against the walls."
"True," Dockson said, "but I'm worried that if you enter that camp, you'll
never come out."
"Only if I fail," Elend said. "If I follow the plan—convince my father that
we're his allies—he'll let me return. I didn't spend a lot of time politicking
in the court when I was younger. However, one thing I did learn to do was
manipulate my father. I know Straff Venture—and I know that I can beat
him. Besides, he doesn't want me dead."
"Can we be sure of that?" Ham asked, rubbing his chin.
"Yes," Elend said. "After all, Straff hasn't sent assassins after me, while
Cett has. It makes sense. What better person for Straff to leave in control of
Luthadel than his own son? He thinks he can control me—he'll assume that
he can make me give him Luthadel. If I play into that, I should be able to
get him to attack Cett."
"He does have a point. . ." Ham said.
"Yes," Dockson said, "but what is to keep Straff from just taking you
hostage and forcing his way into Luthadel?"
"He'll still have Cett at his back," Elend said. "If he fights us, he'll lose
men—a lot of men—and expose himself to attack from behind."
"But he'll have you, my dear man," Breeze said. "1He wouldn't have to
attack Luthadel—he could force us to give in."
"You'll have orders to let me die first" Elend said. "That's why I set up the
Assembly. It has the power to choose a new king."
"But why?" Ham asked. "Why take this risk, El? Let's wait a bit longer
and see if we can get Straff to meet with you in a more neutral location."
Elend sighed. "You have to listen to me, Ham. Siege or no siege, we can't
just sit here. If we do, either we'll get starved out, or one of those armies
will decide to break the siege and attack us, hoping to take our walls, then
turn and immediately defend against its enemies. They won't do that easily,
but it could happen. It will happen, if we don't begin to play the kings
against one another."
The room fell silent. The others slowly turned toward Clubs, who
nodded. He agreed.
Good job, Elend, Vin thought.
"Someone has to meet with my father," Elend said. "And, I need to be
that person. Straff thinks I am a fool, so I can convince him that I'm no
threat. Then, I'll go and persuade Cett that I'm on his side. When they
finally attack each other—each one thinking we're on their side—we'll
withdraw instead and force them to fight it out. The winner won't have
enough strength left to take the city from us!"
Ham and Breeze nodded their heads. Dockson, however, shook his. "The
plan is good in theory, but going into the enemy camp unguarded? That
seems foolish."
"Now, see," Elend said. "I think this is to our advantage. My father
believes strongly in control and domination. If I walk into his camp, I'll
essentially be telling him that I agree he has authority over me. I'll seem
weak, and he'll assume that he can take me whenever he wants. It's a risk,
but if I don't do this, we die."
The men eyed each other.
Elend stood up a little straighter and pulled his hands into fists at his
sides. He always did that when he was nervous.
"I'm afraid that this isn't a discussion," Elend said. "I've made my
decision."
They're not going to accept a declaration like that, Vin thought. The crew
were an independent lot.
Yet, surprisingly, none of them objected.
Dockson finally nodded his head. "All right, Your Majesty," he said.
"You're going to need to walk a dangerous line—make Straff believe that he
can count on our support, but also convince him that he can betray us at his
leisure. You have to make him want our strength of arms while at the same
time dismissing our strength of will."
"And," Breeze added, "you need to do so without him figuring out that
you're playing both sides."
"Can you do it?" Ham asked. "Honestly, Elend?"
Elend nodded. "I can do it, Ham. I've gotten much better at politics this
last year." He said the words with confidence, though Vin noticed that he
still had his fists clenched. He'll have to learn not to do that.
"You may, perhaps, understand politics," Breeze said, "but this is
scamming. Face it, my friend, you're dreadfully honest—always talking
about how to defend the rights of skaa and the like."
"Now, see, you're being unfair," Elend said. "Honesty and good
intentions are completely different. Why, I can be just as dishonest as—"
He paused. 1"Why am I arguing this point? We admit what has to be done,
and we know that I'm the one who has to do it. Dox, would you draft a letter
to my father? Suggest that I would be happy to visit him. In fact. . ."
Elend paused, glancing at Vin. Then, he continued. "In fact, tell him that
I want to discuss the future of Luthadel, and because I want to introduce
him to someone special."
Ham chuckled. "Ah, nothing like bringing a girl home to meet the
father."
"Especially when that girl happens to be the most dangerous Allomancer
in the Central Dominance," Breeze added.
"You think he'll agree to letting her come?" Dockson said.
"If he doesn't, there's no deal," Elend said. "Make sure he knows that.
Either way, I do think he'll agree. Straff has a habit of underestimating me
—probably with good reason. However, I'll bet that sentiment extends to
Vin as well. He'll assume she isn't as good as everyone says."
"Straff has his own Mistborn," Vin added. "To protect him. It will only be
fair for Elend to be able to bring me. And, if I'm there, I can get him out
should something go wrong."
Ham chuckled again. "That probably wouldn't make for a very dignified
retreat—getting slung over Vin's shoulder and carried to safety."
"Better than dying," Elend said, obviously trying to act good-natured, but
flushing slightly at the same time.
He loves me, but he's still a man, Vin thought. How many times have I
hurt his pride by being Mistborn while he is simply a normal person? A
lesser man would never have fallen in love with me.
But, doesn't he deserve a woman that he feels he can protect? A woman
who's more like. . .a woman?
Vin pulled down in her chair again, seeking warmth within its plushness.
However, it was Elend's study chair, where he read. Didn't he also deserve a
woman who shared his interests, one who didn't find reading a chore? A
woman with whom he could talk about his brilliant political theories?
Why am I thinking about our relationship so much lately? Vin thought.
We don't belong in their world, Zane had said. We belong here, in the
mists.
You don't belong with them. . ..
"There is something else I wanted to mention, Your Majesty," Dockson
said. "You should meet with the Assembly. They've been growing impatient
to get your ear—something about counterfeit coins being passed in
Luthadel."
"I don't really have time for city business right now," Elend said. "The
prime reason I set up the Assembly was so that they could deal with these
kinds of issues. Go ahead and send them a message, telling them that I trust
their judgment. Apologize for me, and explain that I'm seeing to the city's
defense. I'll try and make the Assembly meeting next week."
Dockson nodded, scribbling a note to himself. "Though," he noted, "that
is something else to consider. By meeting with Straff, you'll give up your
hold on the Assembly."
"This isn't an official parlay," Elend said. "Just an informal meeting. My
resolution from before will still stand."
"In all honesty, Your Majesty," Dockson said, "I highly doubt that they
will see it that way. You know how angry they are to be left without
recourse until you decide to hold 1the parlay."
"I know," Elend said. "But the risk is worthwhile. We need to meet with
Straff. Once that is done, I can return with—hopefully—good news for the
Assembly. At that point, I can argue that the resolution hasn't been fulfilled.
For now, the meeting goes forward."
More decisive indeed, Vin thought. He's changing. . ..
She had to stop thinking about things like that. Instead, she focused on
something else. The conversation turned to specific ways that Elend could
manipulate Straff, each of the crewmembers giving him tips on how to
scam effectively. Vin, however, found herself watching them, looking for
discrepancies in their personalities, trying to decide if any of them might be
the kandra spy.
Was Clubs being even quieter than normal? Was Spook's shift in
language patterns due to growing maturity, or because the kandra had
difficulty mimicking his slang? Was Ham, perhaps, too jovial? He also
seemed to focus less on his little philosophical puzzles than he once had.
Was that because he was more serious now, or because the kandra didn't
know how to imitate him properly?
It was no good. If she thought too much, she could spot seeming
discrepancies in anyone. Yet, at the same time, they all seemed like
themselves. People were just too complex to reduce to simple personality
traits. Plus, the kandra would be good—very good. He would have a
lifetime of training in the art of imitating others, and he had probably been
planning his insertion for a long time.
It came down to Allomancy, then. With all of the activities surrounding
the siege and her studies about the Deepness, however, she hadn't had a
chance to test her friends. As she thought about it, she admitted that the lack
of time excuse was a weak one. The truth was that she was probably
distracting herself because the thought of one of the crew—one of her first
group of friends—being a traitor was just too upsetting.
She had to get over that. If there really were a spy in the group, that
would be the end of them. If the enemy kings found out about the tricks
Elend was planning. . .
This in mind, she tentatively burned bronze. Immediately, she sensed an
Allomantic pulse from Breeze—dear, incorrigible Breeze. He was so good
at Allomancy that even Vin couldn't detect his touch most of the time, but
he was also compulsive about using his power.
He wasn't currently using it on her, however. She closed her eyes,
focusing. Once, long ago, Marsh had tried to train her in the fine art of
using bronze to read Allomantic pulses. She hadn't realized at the time just
how large a task he'd begun.
When an Allomancer burned a metal, they gave off an invisible, drumlike
beat that only another Allomancer burning bronze could sense. The rhythm
of these pulses—how quickly the beats came, the way they "sounded"—
told exactly what metal was being burned.
It took practice, and was difficult, but Vin was getting better at reading
the pulses. She focused. Breeze was burning brass—the internal, mental
Pushing metal. And. . .
Vin focused harder. She could feel a pattern washing over her, a double
dum-dum beat with each pulse. They felt oriented to her right. The pulses
were washing against something else, something that was sucking them in.
Elend. Breeze was focused on Elend. Not surprising, considering the
current discussion. Breeze was always Pushing on the people he interacted
with.
Satisfied, Vi1n sat back. But then she paused. Marsh implied there was
much more to bronze than many people thought. I wonder. . ..
She squeezed her eyes shut—ignoring the fact that any of the others who
saw her would think her actions strange—and focused again on the
Allomantic pulses. She flared the bronze, concentrating so hard she felt
she'd give herself a headache. There was a. . .vibration to the pulses. But
what that could mean, she wasn't certain.
Focus! she told herself. However, the pulses stubbornly refused to yield
any further information.
Fine, she thought. I'll cheat. She turned off her tin—she almost always
had it on a little bit—then reached inside and burned the fourteenth metal.
Duralumin.
The Allomantic pulses became so loud. . .so powerful. . .she swore she
could feel their vibrations shaking her apart. They pounded like beats from
a massive drum set right beside her. But she got something from them.
Anxiety, nervousness, worry, insecurity, anxiety, nervousness, worry—
It was gone, her bronze expended in one massive flare of power. Vin
opened her eyes; no one in the room was looking at her except OreSeur.
She felt drained. The headache she'd predicted before now came in full
force, thudding inside her head like the tiny brother of the drum she'd now
banished. However, she held to the information she'd gleaned. It hadn't
come in words, but feelings—and her first fear was that Breeze was making
these emotions appear. Anxiety, nervousness, worry. However, she
immediately realized that Breeze was a Soother. If he focused on emotions,
it would be the ones he was dampening. The ones he was using his powers
to Soothe away.
She looked from him to Elend. Why. . .he's making Elend more confident!
If Elend stood a little taller, it was because Breeze was quietly helping,
Soothing away anxiety and worry. And Breeze did this even as he argued
and made his usual mocking comments.
Vin studied the plump man, ignoring her headache, feeling a newfound
sense of admiration. She'd always wondered just a little at Breeze's
placement in the crew. The other men were all, to an extent, idealists. Even
Clubs, beneath his crotchety exterior, had always struck her as a solidly
good man.
Breeze was different. Manipulative, a little selfish—he seemed like he'd
joined the crew for the challenge, not because he really wanted to help the
skaa. But, Kelsier had always claimed that he'd chosen his crew carefully,
picking the men for their integrity, not just their skill.
Perhaps Breeze wasn't an exception after all. Vin watched him pointing
his cane at Ham as he said something flippant. And yet, on the inside, he
was completely different.
You're a good man, Breeze, she thought, smiling to herself. You just try
your best to hide it.
And he also wasn't the impostor. She'd known that before, of course;
Breeze hadn't been in the city when the kandra had made the switch.
However, having a second confirmation lifted a tiny bit of her burden.
Now if she could just eliminate some of the others.
Elend bid the crew farewell after the meeting. Dockson went to pen the
requested letters, Ham to go over security, Clubs back to training the
soldiers, and Breeze to try and placate the Assembly regarding Elend's lack
of attention.
Vin trailed out of1 the study, shooting him a glance, then eyeing Tindwyl.
Suspicious of her still, eh? Elend thought with amusement. He nodded
reassuringly, and Vin frowned, looking just a little annoyed. He would have
let her stay, but. . .well, facing Tindwyl was embarrassing enough alone.
Vin left the room, wolfhound kandra at her side. Looks like she's growing
more attached to the creature, Elend thought with satisfaction. It was good
to know that someone watched over her.
Vin shut the door behind her, and Elend sighed, rubbing his shoulder.
Several weeks of training with the sword and cane were taking a lot out of
him, and his body was bruised. He tried to keep the pain from showing—or,
rather, from letting Tindwyl see him show the pain. At least I proved that
I'm learning, he thought. She had to see how well I did today.
"Well?" he asked.
"You are an embarrassment," Tindwyl said, standing before her chair.
"So you like to say," Elend said, walking forward to begin piling up a
stack of books. Tindwyl said that he needed to let servants keep his study
clean, something he'd always resisted. The clutter of books and papers felt
right to him, and he certainly didn't want someone else moving them
around.
With her standing there looking at him, however, it was difficult not to
feel self-conscious about the mess. He stacked another book on the pile.
"Surely you noticed how well I did," Elend said. "I got them to let me go
into Straff's camp."
"You are king, Elend Venture," Tindwyl said, arms folded. "Nobody 'lets'
you do anything. The first change in attitude has to be your own—you have
to stop thinking that you need permission or agreement from those who
follow you."
"A king should lead by consent of his citizens," Elend said. "I will not be
another Lord Ruler."
"A king should be strong," Tindwyl said firmly. "He accepts counsel, but
only when he asks for it. He makes it clear that the final decision is his, not
his counselors'. You need better control over your advisors. If they don't
respect you, then your enemies won't either—and the masses never will."
"Ham and the others respect me."
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow.
"They do!"
"What do they call you?"
Elend shrugged. "They're my friends. They use my name."
"Or a close approximation of it. Right, 'El'?"
Elend flushed, setting one final book on the stack. "You'd have me force
my friends to address me by my title?"
"Yes," Tindwyl said. "Especially in public. You should be addressed as
'Your Majesty,' or at least as 'my lord.'"
"I doubt Ham would deal well with that," Elend said. "He has some
issues with authority."
"He will get over them," Tindwyl said, wiping her finger along a
bookcase. She didn't need to hold it up for Elend to know there would be
dust on its tip.
"What about you?" Elend challenged.
"Me?"
"You call me 'Elend Venture,' not 'Your Majesty.'"
"I am different," Tindwyl said.
"Well, I don't see1 why you should be. You can call me 'Your Majesty'
from now on."
Tindwyl smiled slyly. "Very well, Your Majesty. You can unclench your
fists now. You're going to have to work on that—a statesman should not
give visual clues of his nervousness."
Elend glanced down, relaxing his hands. "All right."
"In addition," Tindwyl continued, "you still hedge too much in your
language. It makes you seem timid and hesitant."
"I'm working on that."
"Don't apologize unless you really mean it," Tindwyl said. "And don't
make excuses. You don't need them. A leader is often judged by how well
he bears responsibility. As king, everything that happens in your kingdom
—regardless of who commits the act—is your fault. You are even
responsible for unavoidable events such as earthquakes or storms."
"Or armies," Elend said.
Tindwyl nodded. "Or armies. It is your responsibility to deal with these
things, and if something goes wrong, it is your fault. You simply have to
accept this."
Elend nodded, picking up a book.
"Now, let's talk about guilt," Tindwyl said, seating herself. "Stop
cleaning. That isn't a job for a king."
Elend sighed, setting down the book.
"Guilt," Tindwyl said, "does not become a king. You have to stop feeling
sorry for yourself."
"You just told me everything that happens in the kingdom is my fault!"
"It is."
"How can I not feel guilty, then?"
"You have to feel confident that your actions are the best," Tindwyl
explained. "You have to know that no matter how bad things get, they
would be worse without you. When disaster occurs, you take responsibility,
but you don't wallow or mope. You aren't allowed that luxury; guilt is for
lesser men. You simply need to do what is expected."
"And that is?"
"To make everything better."
"Great," Elend said flatly. "And if I fail?"
"Then you accept responsibility, and make everything better on the
second try."
Elend rolled his eyes. "And what if I can't ever make things better? What
if I'm really not the best man to be king?"
"Then you remove yourself from the position," Tindwyl said. "Suicide is
the preferred method—assuming, of course, that you have an heir. A good
king knows not to foul up the succession."
"Of course," Elend said. "So, you're saying I should just kill myself."
"No. I'm telling you to have pride in yourself, Your Majesty."
"That's not what it sounds like. Every day you tell me how poor a king I
am, and how my people will suffer because of it! Tindwyl, I'm not the best
man for this position. He got himself killed by the Lord Ruler."
"That is enough!" Tindwyl snapped. "Believe it or not, Your Majesty, you
are the best person for this position."
Elend snorted.
"You are best," Tindwyl said, "because you hold the throne now. If there
is anything worse than a mediocre king, it is chaos—which is what this
kingd1om would have if you hadn't taken the throne. The people on both
sides, noblemen and skaa, accept you. They may not believe in you, but
they accept you. Step down now—or even die accidentally—and there
would be confusion, collapse, and destruction. Poorly trained or not, weak
of character or not, mocked or not, you are all this country has. You are
king, Elend Venture."
Elend paused. "I'm. . .not sure if you're making me feel any better about
myself, Tindwyl."
"It's—"
Elend raised a hand. "Yes, I know. It's not about how I feel."
"You have no place for guilt. Accept that you're king, accept that you can
do nothing constructive to change that, and accept responsibility. Whatever
you do, be confident—for if you weren't here, there would be chaos."
Elend nodded.
"Arrogance, Your Majesty," Tindwyl said. "Successful leaders all share
one common trait—they believe that they can do a better job than the
alternatives. Humility is fine when considering your responsibility and duty,
but when it comes time to make a decision, you must not question
yourself."
"I'll try."
"Good," Tindwyl said. "Now, perhaps, we can move on to another matter.
Tell me, why haven't you married that young girl?"
Elend frowned. Wasn't expecting that. . .. "That's a very personal
question, Tindwyl."
"Good."
Elend deepened his frown, but she sat expectantly, watching him with
one of her unrelenting stares.
"I don't know," Elend finally said, sitting back in his chair, sighing. "Vin
isn't. . .like other women."
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow, her voice softening slightly. "I think that the
more women you come to know, Your Majesty, the more you'll find that
statement applies to all of them."
Elend nodded ruefully.
"Either way," Tindwyl said, "things are not well as they stand. I will not
pry further into your relationship, but—as we've discussed—appearances
are very important to a king. It isn't appropriate for you to be seen as having
a mistress. I realize that sort of thing was common for imperial nobility. The
skaa, however, want to see something better in you. Perhaps because many
noblemen were so frivolous with their sexual lives, the skaa have always
prized monogamy. They wish desperately for you to respect their values."
"They'll just have to be patient with us," Elend said. "I actually want to
marry Vin, but she won't have it."
"Do you know why?"
Elend shook his head. "She. . .doesn't seem to make sense a lot of the
time."
"Perhaps she isn't right for a man in your position."
Elend looked up sharply. "What does that mean?"
"Perhaps you need someone a little more refined," Tindwyl said. "I'm
certain she's a fine bodyguard, but as a lady, she—"
"Stop," Elend snapped. "Vin is fine as she is."
Tindwyl smiled.
"What?" Elend demanded.
"I've insulted you all afternoon, Your Majesty, and you barely grew
sullen. I mentioned your Mistborn in a mildly disparaging way, and now
y1ou're ready to throw me out."
"So?"
"So, you do love her?"
"Of course," Elend said. "I don't understand her, but yes. I love her."
Tindwyl nodded. "I apologize, then, Your Majesty. I had to be certain."
Elend frowned, relaxing in his chair slightly. "So, this was some kind of
test, then? You wanted to see how I would react to your words about Vin?"
"You will always be tested by those you meet, Your Majesty. You might
as well grow accustomed to it."
"But, why do you care about my relationship with Vin?"
"Love is not easy for kings, Your Majesty," Tindwyl said in an
uncharacteristically kind voice. "You will find that your affection for the
girl can cause far more trouble than any of the other things we've
discussed."
"And that's a reason to give her up?" Elend asked stiffly.
"No," Tindwyl said. "No, I don't think so."
Elend paused, studying the stately Terriswoman with her square features
and her stiff posture. "That. . .seems odd, coming from you. What about
kingly duty and appearances?"
"We must make allowances for the occasional exception," Tindwyl said.
Interesting, Elend thought. He wouldn't have considered her the type to
agree to any sort of "exceptions." Perhaps she's a little deeper than I've
assumed.
"Now," Tindwyl said. "How are your training sessions going?"
Elend rubbed his sore arm. "All right, I suppose. But—"
He was interrupted by a knock at the door. Captain Demoux entered a
moment later. "Your Majesty, a visitor has arrived from Lord Cett's army."
"A messenger?" Elend said, standing.
Demoux paused, looking a little embarrassed. "Well. . .sort of. She says
she's Lord Cett's daughter, and she's come looking for Breeze."
He was born of a humble family, yet married the daughter of a king.
21
THE YOUNG WOMAN'S EXPENSIVE DRESS—light red silk with a
shawl and lace sleeves—might have lent her an air of dignity, had she not
scampered forward as soon as Breeze entered the room. Her light Western
hair bouncing, she made a squeal of happiness as she threw her arms around
Breeze's neck.
She was, perhaps, eighteen years old.
Elend glanced at Ham, who stood dumbfounded.
"Well, looks like you were right about Breeze and Cett's daughter," Elend
whispered.
Ham shook his head. "I didn't think. . .I mean I joked, because it was
Breeze, but I didn't expect to be right!"
Breeze, for his part, at least had the decency to look terribly
uncomfortable in the young woman's arms. They stood inside the palace
atrium, the same place where Elend had met with his father's messenger.
Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the afternoon light, and a group of servants
stood at one side of the room to wait on Elend's orders.
Breeze met Elend's eyes, blushing deeply. I don't think I've ever1 seen
him do that before, Elend thought.
"My dear," Breeze said, clearing his throat, "perhaps you should
introduce yourself to the king?"
The girl finally let go of Breeze. She stepped back, curtsying to Elend
with a noblewoman's grace. She was a bit plump, her hair long after preCollapse fashion, and her cheeks were red with excitement. She was a cute
thing, obviously well trained for the court—exactly the sort of girl that
Elend had spent his youth trying to avoid.
"Elend," Breeze said, "might I introduce Allrianne Cett, daughter to Lord
Ashweather Cett, king of the Western Dominance?"
"Your Majesty," Allrianne said.
Elend nodded. "Lady Cett." He paused, then—with a hopeful voice—
continued. "Your father sent you as an ambassador?"
Allrianne paused. "Um. . .he didn't exactly send me, Your Majesty."
"Oh, dear," Breeze said, pulling out a handkerchief to dab his brow.
Elend glanced at Ham, then back at the girl. "Perhaps you should
explain," he said, gesturing toward the atrium's seats. Allrianne nodded
eagerly, but stayed close to Breeze as they sat. Elend waved for some
servants to bring chilled wine.
He had a feeling he was going to want something to drink.
"I seek asylum, Your Majesty," Allrianne said, speaking with a quick
voice. "I had to go. I mean, Breezy must have told you how my father is!"
Breeze sat uncomfortably, and Allrianne put an affectionate hand on his
knee.
"How your father is?" Elend asked.
"He is so manipulative," Allrianne said. "So demanding. He drove
Breezy away, and I absolutely had to follow. I wouldn't spend another
moment in that camp. A war camp! He brought me, a young lady, along
with him to war! Why, do you know what it is like to be leered at by every
passing soldier? Do you understand what it is like to live in a tent?"
"I—"
"We rarely had fresh water," Allrianne continued. "And I couldn't take a
decent bath without fear of peeping soldiers! During our travels, there was
dreadful nothing to do all day but sit in the carriage and bounce, bounce,
bounce. Why, until Breezy came, I hadn't had a refined conversation in
weeks. And then, Father drove him away. . .."
"Because?" Ham asked eagerly.
Breeze coughed.
"I had to get away, Your Majesty," Allrianne said. "You have to give me
asylum! I know things that could help you. Like, I saw my father's camp.
I'll bet you don't know that he is getting supplies from the cannery in
Haverfrex! What do you think of that?"
"Um. . .impressive," Elend said hesitantly.
Allrianne nodded curtly.
"And, you came to find Breeze?" Elend asked.
Allrianne flushed slightly, glancing to the side. However, when she
spoke, she displayed little tact. "I had to see him again, Your Majesty. So
charming, so. . .wonderful. I wouldn't have expected Father to understand a
man such as he."
"I see," Elend said.
"Please, Your Majesty," Allrianne said. "You have to take me in. Now
that I've left Father, I have nowhere else to go!"
"You may stay—for a time, at least," Elend said, nodding greetings to
Dockson, who had entered through the atrium doors. "But, you've obviously
had a difficult trip. Perhaps you would like an opportunity to refresh
yourself. . .?"
"Oh, I would much appreciate that, Your Majesty!"
Elend eyed Cadon, one of the palace stewards, who stood at the back of
the room with other servants. He nodded; rooms were prepared. "Then,"
Elend said, standing, "Cadon will lead you to some rooms. We will take
dinner this evening at seven, and can speak again then."
"Thank you, Your Majesty!" Allrianne said, jumping up from her chair.
She gave Breeze another hug, then stepped forward, as if to do the same for
Elend. Fortunately, she thought better of it, instead allowing the servants to
lead her away.
Elend sat. Breeze sighed deeply, leaning back in a wearied posture as
Dockson walked forward, taking the girl's seat.
"That was. . .unexpected," Breeze noted.
There was an awkward pause, the atrium trees shifting slightly in the
breeze from the balcony. Then—with a sharp bark—Ham began to laugh.
The noise sparked Elend, and—despite the danger, despite the gravity of the
problem—he found himself laughing as well.
"Oh, honestly," Breeze huffed, which only prompted them further.
Perhaps it was the sheer incongruity of the situation, perhaps it was because
he needed to release tension, but Elend found himself laughing so hard he
almost fell from the chair. Ham wasn't doing much better, and even
Dockson cracked a smile.
"I fail to see the levity in this situation," Breeze said. "The daughter of
Lord Cett—a man who is currently besieging our home—just demanded
asylum in the city. If Cett wasn't determined to kill us before, he certainly
will be now!"
"I know," Elend said, taking deep breaths. "I know. It's just. . ."
"It's the image of you," Ham said, "being hugged by that courtly
fluffcake. I can't think of anything more awkward than you being
confronted by an irrational young woman!"
"This throws another wrinkle into things," Dockson noted. "Although,
I'm not accustomed to you being the one to bring us a problem of this
nature, Breeze. Honestly, I thought we would be able to avoid unplanned
female attachments now that Kell is gone."
"This isn't my fault," Breeze said pointedly. "The girl's affection is
completely misplaced."
"That's for sure," Ham mumbled.
"All right," a new voice said. "What was that pink thing I just passed in
the hallway?"
Elend turned to find Vin standing, arms folded, in the atrium doorway. So
quiet. Why does she walk stealthily even in the palace? She never wore
shoes that clicked, never wore skirts that could rustle, and never had metal
on her clothing that could clink or be Pushed by Allomancers.
"That wasn't pink, my dear," Breeze said. "That was red."
"Close enough," Vin said, walking forward. "She was bubbling to the
servants about how hot her bath needed to be, and making certain they
wrote down her favorite foods."
Breeze sighed. "That's Allrianne. We'll probably have to get a new pastry
chef—either that, or have desserts ordered in. She's rather particular about
her pastries."
"Allrianne Cett1 is the daughter of Lord Cett," Elend explained as Vin—
ignoring the chairs—sat on the edge of a planter beside his chair, laying a
hand on his arm. "Apparently, she and Breeze are something of an item."
"Excuse me?" Breeze huffed.
Vin, however, wrinkled her nose. "That's disgusting, Breeze. You're old.
She's young."
"There was no relationship," Breeze snapped. "Besides, I'm not that old
—nor is she that young."
"She sounded like she was about twelve," Vin said.
Breeze rolled his eyes. "Allrianne was a child of the country court—a
little innocent, a little spoiled—but she hardly deserves to be spoken of in
that manner. She's actually quite witty, in the right circumstances."
"So, was there anything between you?" Vin pressed.
"Of course not," Breeze said. "Well, not really. Nothing real, though it
could have been taken the wrong way. Was taken the wrong way, actually,
once her father discovered. . .Anyway, who are you to talk, Vin? I seem to
remember a certain young girl pining for an old Kelsier a few years back."
Elend perked up at this.
Vin flushed. "I never pined over Kelsier."
"Not even at the beginning?" Breeze asked. "Come now, a dashing man
like him? He saved you from being beaten by your old crewleader, took you
in. . ."
"You're a sick man," Vin declared, folding her arms. "Kelsier was like a
father to me."
"Eventually, perhaps," Breeze said, "but—"
Elend held up a hand. "Enough," he said. "This line of discussion is
useless."
Breeze snorted, but fell silent. Tindwyl is right, Elend thought. They will
listen to me if I act like I expect them to.
"We have to decide what to do," Elend said.
"The daughter of the man threatening us could be a very powerful
bargaining chip," Dockson said.
"You mean take her hostage?" Vin said, eyes narrowing.
Dockson shrugged. "Someone has to state the obvious, Vin."
"Not really a hostage," Ham said. "She came to us, after all. Simply
letting her stay could have the same effect as taking her hostage."
"That would risk antagonizing Cett," Elend said. "Our original plan was
to make him think we're his ally."
"We could give her back, then," Dockson said. "That could get us a long
way in the negotiations."
"And her request?" Breeze asked. "The girl wasn't happy in her father's
camp. Shouldn't we at least consider her wishes?"
All eyes turned toward Elend. He paused. Just a few weeks ago, they
would have kept on arguing. It seemed strange that they should so quickly
begin to look to him for decisions.
Who was he? A man who had haphazardly ended up on the throne? A
poor replacement for their brilliant leader? An idealist who hadn't
considered the dangers his philosophies would bring? A fool? A child? An
impostor?
The best they had.
"She stays," Elend said. "For now. Perhaps we'll be forced to return her
eventually, but this will make 1a useful distraction for Cett's army. Let them
sweat for a bit. It will only buy us more time."
The crewmembers nodded, and Breeze looked relieved.
I'll do what I can, make the decisions as I see they must be made, Elend
thought.
Then accept the consequences.
He could trade words with the finest of philosophers, and had an
impressive memory. Nearly as good, even, as my own. Yet, he was not
argumentative.
22
CHAOS AND STABILITY, THE MIST was both. Upon the land there
was an empire, within that empire were a dozen shattered kingdoms, within
those kingdoms were cities, towns, villages, plantations. And above them
all, within them all, around them all, was the mist. It was more constant
than the sun, for it could not be hidden by clouds. It was more powerful
than the storms, for it would outlast any weather's fury. It was always there.
Changing, but eternal.
Day was an impatient sigh, awaiting the night. When the darkness did
come, however, Vin found that the mists did not calm her as they once had.
Nothing seemed certain anymore. Once the night had been her refuge;
now she found herself glancing behind, watching for ghostly outlines. Once
Elend had been her peace, but he was changing. Once she had been able to
protect the things she loved—but she was growing more and more afraid
that the forces moving against Luthadel were beyond her capacity to stop.
Nothing frightened her more than her own impotence. During her
childhood she had taken it for granted that she couldn't change things, but
Kelsier had given her pride in herself.
If she couldn't protect Elend, what good was she?
There are still some things I can do, she thought forcefully. She crouched
quietly on a ledge, mistcloak tassels hanging down, waving slightly in the
wind. Just below her, torches burned fitfully at the front of Keep Venture,
illuminating a pair of Ham's guards. They stood alert in the swirling mists,
showing impressive diligence.
The guards wouldn't be able to see her sitting just above them; they'd
barely be able to see twenty feet in the thick mists. They weren't
Allomancers. Besides the core crew, Elend had access to barely half a dozen
Mistings—which made him Allomantically weak compared with most of
the other new kings in the Final Empire. Vin was supposed to make up the
difference.
The torches flickered as the doors opened, and a figure left the palace.
Ham's voice echoed quietly in the mist as he greeted his guards. One reason
—perhaps the main reason—that the guards were so diligent was because of
Ham. He might have been a bit of an anarchist at heart, but he could be a
very good leader if he was given a small team. Though his guards weren't
the most disciplined, polished soldiers Vin had seen, they were fiercely
loyal.
Ham talked with the men for a time, then he waved farewell and walked
out into the mists. The small courtyard between the keep and its wall
contained a couple of guard posts and patrols, and Ham would visit each
one in turn. He walked boldly in the night, trusting to diffused starlight to
see, rather than blinding himself with a torch. A thief's habit.
Vin smiled, leaping quietly to the ground, then scampering after Ham. He
walked on, ignorant of her presence. What would it be like to have only one
Allomantic power? Vi1n thought. To be able to make yourself stronger, but
to have ears as weak as those of any normal man? It had been only two
years, but already she had come to rely so heavily on her abilities.
Ham continued forward, Vin following discreetly, until they reached the
ambush. Vin tensed, flaring her bronze.
OreSeur howled suddenly, jumping from a pile of boxes. The kandra was
a dark silhouette in the night, his inhuman baying disturbing even to Vin.
Ham spun, cursing quietly.
And he instinctively flared pewter. Focused on her bronze, Vin confirmed
that the pulses were definitely coming from him. Ham spun around,
searching in the night as OreSeur landed. Vin, however, simply smiled.
Ham's Allomancy meant he wasn't the impostor. She could cross another
name off her list.
"It's okay, Ham," Vin said, walking forward.
Ham paused, lowering his dueling cane. "Vin?" he asked, squinting in the
mist.
"It's me," she said. "I'm sorry, you startled my hound. He can get jumpy
at night."
Ham relaxed. "We all can, I guess. Anything happening tonight?"
"Not that I can tell," she said. "I'd let you know."
Ham nodded. "I'd appreciate it—though I doubt you'd need me. I'm
captain of the guard, but you're the one who does all the work."
"You're more valuable than you think, Ham," Vin said. "Elend confides in
you. Since Jastes and the others left him, he's needed a friend."
Ham nodded. Vin turned, glancing into the mists, where OreSeur sat
waiting on his haunches. He seemed to be getting more and more
comfortable with his hound's body.
Now that she knew Ham was not an impostor, there was something she
needed to discuss with him. "Ham," she said, "your protection of Elend is
more valuable than you know."
"You're talking about the impostor," Ham said quietly. "El has me
searching through the palace staff to see who might have gone missing for a
few hours on that day. It's a tough task, though."
She nodded. "There's something else, Ham. I'm out of atium."
He stood quietly in the mists for a moment, and then she heard him
mutter a curse.
"I'll die the next time I fight a Mistborn," she said.
"Not unless he has atium," Ham said.
"What are the chances that someone would send a Mistborn without
atium to fight me?"
He hesitated.
"Ham," she said, "I need to find a way to fight against someone who is
burning atium. Tell me that you know a way."
Ham shrugged in the darkness. "There are lots of theories, Vin. I once
had a long conversation with Breeze about this—though he spent most of it
grumbling that I was annoying him."
"Well?" Vin asked. "What can I do?"
He rubbed his chin. "Most people agree that the best way to kill a
Mistborn with atium is to surprise them."
"That doesn't help if they attack me first," Vin said.
"Well," Ham said. "Barring surprise, there isn't much. Some people think
that you might be able to kill an atium-using Mistborn if you catch them in
an unavoidable situation1. It's like a game of fets—sometimes, the only way
to take a piece is to corner it so that no matter which way it moves, it dies.
"Doing that to a Mistborn is pretty tough, though. The thing is, atium lets
the Mistborn see the future—so he knows when a move will trap him, and
so he can avoid the situation. The metal is supposed to enhance his mind
somehow, too."
"It does. When I'm burning atium, I often dodge before I even register the
attacks that are coming."
Ham nodded.
"So," Vin said, "what else?"
"That's it, Vin," Ham said. "Thugs talk about this topic a lot—we're all
afraid of going up against a Mistborn. Those are your two options: Surprise
him or overwhelm him. I'm sorry."
Vin frowned. Neither option would do her much good if she got
ambushed. "Anyway, I need to keep moving. I promise to tell you about any
corpses I produce."
Ham laughed. "How about you just try and avoid getting into situations
where you have to produce them, eh? The Lord only knows what this
kingdom would do if we lost you. . ."
Vin nodded, though she wasn't certain how much Ham could see of her in
the darkness. She waved to OreSeur, heading out toward the keep wall,
leaving Ham on the cobbled path.
"Mistress," OreSeur said as they reached the top of the wall, "might I
know the purpose of surprising Master Hammond like that? Are you that
fond of startling your friends?"
"It was a test," Vin said, pausing beside a merlon gap, looking out over
the city proper.
"A test, Mistress?"
"To see if he would use Allomancy. That way, I could know that he
wasn't the impostor."
"Ah," the kandra said. "Clever, Mistress."
Vin smiled. "Thank you," she said. A guard patrol was moving toward
them. Not wanting to have to deal with them, Vin nodded to the wall-top
stone guardhouse. She jumped, pushing off a coin, and landed on top of it.
OreSeur bounded up beside her, using his strange kandra musculature to
leap the ten feet.
Vin sat down cross-legged to think, and OreSeur padded over to the
roof's side and lay down, paws hanging over the edge. As they sat, Vin
considered something. OreSeur told me that a kandra didn't gain
Allomantic powers if he ate an Allomancer. . .but, can a kandra be an
Allomancer on his own? I never did finish that conversation.
"This will tell me if a person isn't a kandra, won't it?" Vin asked, turning
to OreSeur. "Your people don't have Allomantic powers, right?"
OreSeur didn't answer.
"OreSeur?" Vin said.
"I'm not required to answer that question, Mistress."
Yes, Vin thought with a sigh. The Contract. How am I supposed to catch
this other kandra if OreSeur won't answer any of my questions? She leaned
back in frustration, staring up into the endless mists, using her mistcloak to
cushion her head.
"Your plan will work, Mistress," OreSeur said quietly.
Vin paused, rolling her head to look at him. He lay with head on
forepaws, staring over the city. "If you sense Allomancy from someone,
then they aren't a kandra."
Vin sensed a hesitant reluctance to his w1ords, and he didn't look at her.
It was as if he spoke grudgingly, giving up information that he'd rather have
kept to himself.
So secretive, Vin thought. "Thank you," she said.
OreSeur shrugged a pair of canine shoulders.
"I know you'd rather not have to deal with me," she said. "We'd both
rather keep our distance from each other. But, we'll just have to make things
work this way."
OreSeur nodded again, then turned his head slightly and looked at her.
"Why is it that you hate me?"
"I don't hate you," Vin said.
OreSeur raised a canine eyebrow. There was a wisdom in those eyes, an
understanding that Vin was surprised to see. She'd never seen such things in
him before.
"I. . ." Vin trailed off, looking away. "I just haven't ever gotten over the
fact that you ate Kelsier's body."
"That isn't it," OreSeur said, turning back to look at the city. "You're too
smart to be bothered by that."
Vin frowned indignantly, but the kandra wasn't looking at her. She
turned, staring back up at the mists. Why did he bring this up? she thought.
We were just starting to get along. She'd been willing to forget.
You really want to know? she thought. Fine.
"It's because you knew," she whispered.
"Excuse me, Mistress?"
"You knew," Vin said, still looking into the mists. "You were the only one
on the crew who knew Kelsier was going to die. He told you that he was
going to let himself be killed, and that you were to take his bones."
"Ah," OreSeur said quietly.
Vin turned accusing eyes at the creature. "Why didn't you say something?
You knew how we felt about Kelsier. Did you even consider telling us that
the idiot planned to kill himself? Did it even cross your mind that we might
be able to stop him, that we might be able to find another way?"
"You are being quite harsh, Mistress."
"Well, you wanted to know," Vin said. "It was worst right after he died.
When you came to be my servant, by his order. You never even spoke of
what you'd done."
"The Contract, Mistress," OreSeur said. "You do not wish to hear this,
perhaps, but I was bound. Kelsier did not wish you to know of his plans, so
I could not tell you. Hate me if you must, but I do not regret my actions."
"I don't hate you." I got over that. "But, honestly, you wouldn't even
break the Contract for his own good? You served Kelsier for two years.
Didn't it even hurt you to know he was going to die?"
"Why should I care if one master or another dies?" OreSeur said. "There
is always another to take their place."
"Kelsier wasn't that kind of master," Vin said.
"Wasn't he?"
"No."
"I apologize, Mistress," OreSeur said. "I will believe as commanded,
then."
Vin opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it closed. If he was
determined to keep thinking like a fool, then it was his right to do so. He
could continue to resent masters, just as. . .
Just as she resented him. For keeping his word, for holding to his
Contract.
Ever since I've known him, I've done nothing but treat him poorly, Vin
thought. First, when he was Renoux, I reacted against his haughty bearing
—but that bearing wasn't his, it was part of the act he had to play. Then, as
OreSeur, I avoided him. Hated him, even, for letting Kelsier die. Now I've
forced him into an animal's body.
And, in two years of knowing him, the only times I've asked about his
past, I did it so that I could glean more information about his people so that
I could find the impostor.
Vin watched the mists. Of all the people in the crew, only OreSeur had
been an outsider. He hadn't been invited to their conferences. He hadn't
inherited a position in the government. He'd helped as much as any of them,
playing a vital role—that of the "spirit" Kelsier, who had returned from the
grave to incite the skaa to their final rebellion. Yet, while the rest of them
had titles, friendships, and duties, the only thing OreSeur had gained from
overthrowing the Final Empire was another master.
One who hated him.
No wonder he reacts like he does, Vin thought. Kelsier's last words to her
returned to her mind: You have a lot to learn about friendship, Vin. . .. Kell
and the others had invited her in, treated her with dignity and friendliness,
even when she hadn't deserved it.
"OreSeur," she said, "what was your life like before you were recruited
by Kelsier?"
"I don't see what that has to do with finding the impostor, Mistress,"
OreSeur said.
"It doesn't have anything to do with that," Vin said. "I just thought maybe
I should get to know you better."
"My apologies, Mistress, but I don't want you to know me."
Vin sighed. So much for that.
But. . .well, Kelsier and the others hadn't turned away when she'd been
blunt with them. There was a familiar tone to OreSeur's words. Something
in them that she recognized.
"Anonymity," Vin said quietly.
"Mistress?"
"Anonymity. Hiding, even when you're with others. Being quiet,
unobtrusive. Forcing yourself to stay apart—emotionally, at least. It's a way
of life. A protection."
OreSeur didn't answer.
"You serve beneath masters," Vin said. "Harsh men who fear your
competence. The only way to keep them from hating you is to make certain
they don't pay attention to you. So, you make yourself look small and weak.
Not a threat. But sometimes you say the wrong thing, or you let your
rebelliousness show."
She turned toward him. He was watching her. "Yes," he finally said,
turning to look back over the city.
"They hate you," Vin said quietly. "They hate you because of your
powers, because they can't make you break your word, or because they
worry that you are too strong to control."
"They become afraid of you," OreSeur said. "They grow paranoid—
terrified, even as they use you, that you will take their place. Despite the
Contract, despite knowing that no kandra would break his sacred vow, they
fear you. And men hate what they fear."
"And so," Vin said, "they find excuses to beat you. Sometimes, even your
efforts to remain harmless seem to provoke them. They hate your s1kill,
they hate the fact that they don't have more reasons to beat you, so they beat
you."
OreSeur turned back to her. "How do you know these things?" he
demanded.
Vin shrugged. "That's not only how they treat kandra, OreSeur. That's the
same way crewleaders treat a young girl—an anomaly in a thieving
underground filled with men. A child who had a strange ability to make
things happen—to influence people, to hear what she shouldn't, to move
more quietly and quickly than others. A tool, yet a threat at the same time."
"I. . .didn't realize, Mistress. . .."
Vin frowned. How could he not have known about my past? He knew I
was a street urchin. Except. . .had he? For the first time, Vin realized how
OreSeur must have seen her two years before, when she'd first met him. He
had arrived in the area after her recruitment; he probably assumed that she'd
been part of Kelsier's team for years, like the others.
"Kelsier recruited me for the first time just a few days before I met you,"
Vin said. "Well, actually, he didn't so much recruit me as rescue me. I spent
my childhood serving in one thieving crew after another, always working
for the least reputable and most dangerous men, for those were the only
ones who would take in a couple of transients like my brother and me. The
smart crewleaders learned that I was a good tool. I'm not sure if they figured
out that I was an Allomancer—some probably did, others just thought I was
'lucky.' Either way, they needed me. And that made them hate me."
"So they beat you?"
Vin nodded. "The last one especially. That was when I was really
beginning to figure out how to use Allomancy, even though I didn't know
what it was. Camon knew, though. And he hated me even as he used me. I
think he was afraid that I would figure out how to use my powers fully. And
on that day, he worried that I would kill him. . ." Vin turned her head,
looking at OreSeur. "Kill him and take his place as crewleader."
OreSeur sat quietly, up on his haunches now, regarding her.
"Kandra aren't the only ones that humans treat poorly," Vin said quietly.
"We're pretty good at abusing each other, too."
OreSeur snorted. "With you, at least, they had to hold back for fear they'd
kill you. Have you ever been beaten by a master who knows that no matter
how hard he hits, you won't die? All he has to do is get you a new set of
bones, and you'll be ready to serve again the next day. We are the ultimate
servant—you can beat us to death in the morning, then have us serve you
dinner that night. All the sadism, none of the cost."
Vin closed her eyes. "I understand. I wasn't a kandra, but I did have
pewter. I think Camon knew he could beat me far harder than he should
have been able to."
"Why didn't you run?" OreSeur asked. "You didn't have a Contract
bonding you to him."
"I. . .don't know," Vin said. "People are strange, OreSeur, and loyalty is
so often twisted. I stayed with Camon because he was familiar, and I feared
leaving more than I did staying. That crew was all I had. My brother was
gone, and I was terrified of being alone. It seems kind of strange now,
thinking back."
"Sometimes a bad situation is still better than the alternative. You did
what you needed to do to survive."
"Perhaps," Vin said. "But there's a better way, OreSeur. I didn't know it
until Kelsier found me, but life doesn't have to be like that. You do1n't have
to spend your years mistrusting, staying in the shadows and keeping
yourself apart."
"Perhaps if you are human. I am kandra."
"You can still trust," Vin said. "You don't have to hate your masters."
"I don't hate them all, Mistress."
"But you don't trust them."
"It is nothing personal, Mistress."
"Yes it is," Vin said. "You don't trust us because you're afraid we'll hurt
you. I understand that—I spent months with Kelsier wondering when I was
going to get hurt again."
She paused. "But OreSeur, nobody betrayed us. Kelsier was right. It
seems incredible to me even now, but the men in this crew—Ham,
Dockson, Breeze—they're good people. And, even if one of them were to
betray me, I'd still rather have trusted them. I can sleep at night, OreSeur. I
can feel peace, I can laugh. Life is different. Better."
"You are human," OreSeur said stubbornly. "You can have friends
because they don't worry that you'll eat them, or some other foolishness."
"I don't think that about you."
"Don't you? Mistress, you just admitted that you resent me because I ate
Kelsier. Beyond that, you hate the fact that I followed my Contract. You, at
least, have been honest.
"Human beings find us disturbing. They hate that we eat their kind, even
though we only take bodies that are already dead. Your people find it
unsettling that we can take their forms. Don't tell me that you haven't heard
the legends of my people. Mistwraiths, they call us—creatures that steal the
shapes of men who go into the mists. You think a monster like that, a legend
used to frighten children, will ever find acceptance in your society?"
Vin frowned.
"This is the reason for the Contract, Mistress," OreSeur said, his muffled
voice harsh as he spoke through dog's lips. "You wonder why we don't just
run away from you? Meld into your society, and become unseen? We tried
that. Long ago, when the Final Empire was new. Your people found us, and
they started to destroy us. They used Mistborn to hunt us down, for there
were many more Allomancers in those days. Your people hated us because
they feared we would replace them. We were almost completely destroyed
—and then we came up with the Contract."
"But, what difference does that make?" Vin asked. "You're still doing the
same things, aren't you?"
"Yes, but now we do them at your command," OreSeur said. "Men like
power, and they love controlling something powerful. Our people offered to
serve, and we devised a binding contract—one that every kandra vowed to
uphold. We will not kill men. We will take bones only when we are
commanded. We will serve our masters with absolute obedience. We began
to do these things, and men stopped killing us. They still hated and feared
us—but they also knew they could command us.
"We became your tools. As long as we remain subservient, Mistress, we
survive. And that is why I obey. To break the Contract would be to betray
my people. We cannot fight you, not while you have Mistborn, and so we
must serve you."
Mistborn. Why are Mistborn so important? He implied that they could
find kandra. . ..
She kept this tidbit to herself; she sensed that if she pointed it out, he'd
close up again. So, instead, she sat up and met his eyes in the darkn1ess. "If
you wish, I will free you from your Contract."
"And what would that change?" OreSeur asked. "I'd just get another
Contract. By our laws I must wait another decade before I have time for
freedom—and then only two years, during which time I won't be able to
leave the kandra Homeland. To do otherwise would risk exposure."
"Then, at least accept my apology," she asked. "I was foolish to resent
you for following your Contract."
OreSeur paused. "That still doesn't fix things, Mistress. I still have to
wear this cursed dog's body—I have no personality or bones to imitate!"
"I'd think that you would appreciate the opportunity simply to be
yourself."
"I feel naked," OreSeur said. He sat quietly for a moment; then he bowed
his head. "But. . .I have to admit that there are advantages to these bones. I
didn't realize how unobtrusive they would make me."
Vin nodded. "There were times in my life when I would have given
anything to be able to take the form of a dog and just live my life being
ignored."
"But not anymore?"
Vin shook her head. "No. Not most of the time, anyway. I used to think
that everyone was like you say—hateful, hurtful. But there are good people
in the world, OreSeur. I wish I could prove that to you."
"You speak of this king of yours," OreSeur said, glancing toward the
keep.
"Yes," Vin said. "And others."
"You?"
Vin shook her head. "No, not me. I'm not a good person or a bad person.
I'm just here to kill things."
OreSeur watched her for a moment, then settled back down.
"Regardless," he said, "you are not my worst master. That is, perhaps, a
compliment among our people."
Vin smiled, but her own words left her a bit haunted. Just here to kill
things. . ..
She glanced toward the light of the armies outside the city. A part—the
part that had been trained by Reen, the part that still occasionally used his
voice in the back of her mind—whispered that there was another way to
fight these armies. Rather than rely on politics and parlays, the crew could
use Vin. Send her on a quiet visit into the night that left the kings and
generals of the armies dead.
But, she knew that Elend wouldn't approve of something like that. He'd
argue against using fear to motivate, even on one's enemies. He'd point out
that if she killed Straff or Cett, they'd just be replaced by other men, men
even more hostile toward the city.
Even so, it seemed like such a brutal, logical answer. A piece of Vin
itched to do it, if only to be doing something other than waiting and talking.
She was not a person meant to be besieged.
No, she thought. That's not my way. I don't have to be like Kelsier was.
Hard. Unyielding. I can be something better. Something that trusts in
Elend's way.
She shoved aside that part of her that wanted to just go assassinate both
Straff and Cett, then turned her attention to other things. She focused on her
bronze, watching for signs of Allomancy. Though she liked to jump around
and "patrol" the area, the truth was that she was just as effective staying in
one place. Assassins would be likely to scout the front gates, for that was
where patrols began and the largest concentration of soldiers waited.
Still, she felt her mind wandering. There were forces moving in the
world, and Vin wasn't certain if she wanted to be part of them.
What is my place? she thought. She never felt that she'd discovered it—
not back when she'd been playing as Valette Renoux, and not now, when
she acted as the bodyguard to the man she loved. Nothing quite fit.
She closed her eyes, burning tin and bronze, feeling the touch of windborne mist on her skin. And, oddly, she felt something else, something very
faint. In the distance she could sense Allomantic pulsings. They were so
dull she almost missed them.
They were kind of like the pulses given off by the mist spirit. She could
hear it, too, much closer. Atop a building out in the city. She was getting
used to its presence, not that she had much choice. Still, as long as it only
watched. . ..
It tried to kill one of the Hero's companions, she thought. It knifed him,
somehow. Or so the logbook claimed.
But. . .what was that pulsing in the far distance? It was soft. . .yet
powerful. Like a faraway drum. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing.
"Mistress?" OreSeur said, suddenly perking up.
Vin snapped her eyes open. "What?"
"Didn't you hear that?"
Vin sat up. "Wha—" Then she picked it out. Footsteps outside the wall a
short distance away. She leaned closer, noticing a dark figure walking down
the street toward the keep. She'd been so focused on her bronze that she'd
completely tuned out real sounds.
"Good job," she said, approaching the edge of the guard station's roof.
Only then did she realize something important. OreSeur had taken the
initiative: he'd alerted her of the danger without specifically being ordered
to listen.
It was a small thing, but it seemed important.
"What do you think?" she asked quietly, watching the figure approach.
He carried no torch, and he seemed very comfortable in the mists.
"Allomancer?" OreSeur asked, crouching beside her.
Vin shook her head. "There's no Allomantic pulse."
"So if he is one, he's Mistborn," OreSeur said. He still didn't know she
could pierce copperclouds. "He's too tall to be your friend Zane. Be careful,
Mistress."
Vin nodded, dropped a coin, then threw herself into the mists. Behind
her, OreSeur jumped down from the guardhouse, then leapt off the wall and
dropped some twenty feet to the ground.
He certainly does like to push the limits of those bones, she thought. Of
course, if a fall couldn't kill him, then she could perhaps understand his
courage.
She guided herself by Pulling on the nails in a wooden roof, landing just
a short distance from the dark figure. She pulled out her knives and
prepared her metals, making certain she had duralumin. Then she moved
quietly across the street.
Surprise, she thought. Ham's suggestion still left her nervous. She
couldn't always depend on surprise. She followed the man, studying him.
He was tall—very tall. And in robes. In fact, those robes. . .
Vin stopped short. "Sazed?" she asked with shock.
The Terrisman turned, face now visible to her tin-enhanced eyes. He
smiled. "Ah,1 Lady Vin," he said with his familiar, wise voice. "I was
beginning to wonder how long it would take you to find me. You are—"
He was cut off as Vin grabbed him in an excited embrace. "I didn't think
you were going to come back so soon!"
"I was not planning to return, Lady Vin," Sazed said. "But events are
such that I could not avoid this place, I think. Come, we must speak with
His Majesty. I have news of a rather disconcerting nature."
Vin let go, looking up at his kindly face, noting the tiredness in his eyes.
Exhaustion. His robes were dirty and smelled of ash and sweat. Sazed was
usually very meticulous, even when he traveled. "What is it?" she asked.
"Problems, Lady Vin," he said quietly. "Problems and troubles."
The Terris rejected him, but he came to lead them.
23
"KING LEKAL CLAIMED THAT HE had twenty thousand of the
creatures in his army," Sazed said quietly.
Twenty thousand! Elend thought in shock. That was easily as dangerous
as Straff's fifty thousand men. Probably more so.
The table fell silent, and Elend glanced at the others. They sat in the
palace kitchen, where a couple of cooks hurriedly prepared a late-night
dinner for Sazed. The white room had an alcove at the side with a modest
table for servant meals. Not surprisingly, Elend had never dined in the
room, but Sazed had insisted that they not wake the servants it would
require to prepare the main dining hall, though he apparently hadn't eaten
all day.
So, they sat on the low wooden benches, waiting while the cooks worked
—far enough away that they couldn't hear the hushed conversation in the
alcove. Vin sat beside Elend, arm around his waist, her wolfhound kandra
on the floor beside her. Breeze sat on the other side of him, looking
disheveled; he'd been rather annoyed when they'd woken him. Ham had
already been up, as had Elend himself. Another proposal had needed work
—a letter he would send to the Assembly explaining that he was meeting
with Straff informally, rather than in official parlay.
Dockson pulled over a stool, choosing a place away from Elend, as usual.
Clubs sat slumped on his side of the bench, though Elend couldn't tell if the
posture was from weariness or from general Clubs grumpiness. That left
only Spook, who sat on one of the serving tables a distance away, legs
swinging over the side as he occasionally pilfered a tidbit of food from the
annoyed cooks. He was, Elend noticed with amusement, flirting quite
unsuccessfully with a drowsy kitchen girl.
And then there was Sazed. The Terrisman sat directly across from Elend
with the calm sense of collectedness that only Sazed could manage. His
robes were dusty, and he looked odd without his earrings—removed to not
tempt thieves, Elend would guess—but his face and hands were clean. Even
dirtied from travel, Sazed still gave off a sense of tidiness.
"I do apologize, Your Majesty," Sazed said. "But I do not think that Lord
Lekal is trustworthy. I realize that you were friends with him before the
Collapse, but his current state seems somewhat. . .unstable."
Elend nodded. "How is he controlling them, you think?"
Sazed shook his head. "I cannot guess, Your Majesty."
Ham shook his head. "I have men in the guard who came up from the
South after the Collapse. They1 were soldiers, serving in a garrison near a
koloss camp. The Lord Ruler hadn't been dead a day before the creatures
went crazy. They attacked everything in the area—villages, garrisons,
cities."
"The same happened in the Northwest," Breeze said. "Lord Cett's lands
were being flooded with refugees running from rogue koloss. Cett tried to
recruit the koloss garrison near his own lands, and they followed him for a
time. But then, something set them off, and they just attacked his army. He
had to slaughter the whole lot—and lost nearly two thousand soldiers
killing a small garrison of five hundred koloss."
The group grew quiet again, the clacking and talking of the cooking staff
sounding a short distance away. Five hundred koloss killed two thousand
men, Elend thought. And the Jastes force contains twenty thousand of the
beasts. Lord Ruler. . .
"How long?" said Clubs. "How far away?"
"It took me a little over a week to get here," Sazed said. "Though it
looked as if King Lekal had been camped there for a time. He is obviously
coming this direction, but I don't know how quickly he intends to march."
"Probably wasn't expecting to find that two other armies beat him to the
city," Ham noted.
Elend nodded. "What do we do, then?"
"I don't see that we can do anything, Your Majesty," Dockson said,
shaking his head. "Sazed's report doesn't give me much hope that we'll be
able to reason with Jastes. And, with the siege we're already under, there is
little we can do."
"He might just turn around and go," Ham said. "With two armies already
here. . ."
Sazed looked hesitant. "He knew about the armies, Lord Hammond. He
seemed to trust in his koloss over the human armies."
"With twenty thousand," Clubs said, "he could probably take either of
those other armies."
"But he'd have trouble with both of them," Ham said. "That would give
me pause, if I were him. By showing up with a pile of volatile koloss, he
could easily worry Cett and Straff enough that they would join forces
against him."
"Which would suit us just fine," Clubs said. "The more that other people
fight, the better off we are."
Elend sat back. He felt a looming anxiety, and it was good to have Vin
next to him, arm around him, even if she didn't say much. Sometimes, he
felt stronger simply because of her presence. Twenty thousand koloss. This
single threat scared him more than either of the other armies.
"This could be a good thing," Ham said. "If Jastes were to lose control of
those beasts near Luthadel, there's a good chance they'd attack one of those
other armies."
"Agreed," Breeze said tiredly. "I think we need to keep stalling, draw out
this siege until the koloss army arrives. One more army in the mix means
only more advantage for us."
"I don't like the idea of koloss in the area," Elend said, shivering slightly.
"No matter what advantage they offer us. If they attack the city. . ."
"I say we worry about that when, and if, they arrive," Dockson said. "For
now, we have to continue our plan as we intended. His Majesty meets with
Straff, trying to manipulate him into a covert alliance with us. With luck,
the imminent koloss presence will make him more willing to deal."
Elend nodded. Straff h1ad agreed to meet, and they'd set a date for a few
days away. The Assembly was angry that he hadn't consulted with them
about the time and place, but there was little they could do about the matter.
"Anyway," Elend finally said, sighing. "You said you had other news,
Saze? Better, hopefully?"
Sazed paused. A cook finally walked over, setting a plate of food before
him: steamed barley with strips of steak and some spiced lagets. The scents
were enough to make Elend a little hungry. He nodded thankfully to the
palace chef, who had insisted on preparing the meal himself despite the late
hour, and who waved to his staff and began to withdraw.
Sazed sat quietly, waiting to speak until the staff were again out of
earshot. "I hesitate to mention this, Your Majesty, for your burdens already
seem great."
"You might as well just tell me," Elend said.
Sazed nodded. "I fear that we may have exposed the world to something
when we killed the Lord Ruler, Your Majesty. Something unanticipated."
Breeze raised a tired eyebrow. "Unanticipated? You mean other than
ravaging koloss, power-hungry despots, and bandits?"
Sazed paused. "Um, yes. I speak of items a little more nebulous, I fear.
There is something wrong with the mists."
Vin perked up slightly beside Elend. "What do you mean?"
"I have been following a trail of events," Sazed explained. He looked
down as he spoke, as if embarrassed. "I have been performing an
investigation, you might say. You see, I have heard numerous reports of the
mists coming during the daytime."
Ham shrugged. "That happens sometimes. There are foggy days,
especially in the fall."
"That is not what I mean, Lord Hammond," Sazed said. "There is a
difference between the mist and ordinary fog. It is difficult to spot, perhaps,
but it is noticeable to a careful eye. The mist is thicker, and. . .well. . ."
"It moves in larger patterns," Vin said quietly. "Like rivers in the sky. It
never just hangs in one place; it floats in the breeze, almost like it makes the
breeze."
"And it can't enter buildings," Clubs said. "Or tents. It evaporates soon
after it does."
"Yes," Sazed said. "When I first heard these reports of day mist, I
assumed that the people were just letting their superstitions get out of
control. I have known many skaa who refused to go out on a foggy
morning. However, I was curious about the reports, so I traced them to a
village in the South. I taught there for some time, and never received
confirmation of the stories. So, I made my way from that place."
He paused, frowning slightly. "Your Majesty, please do not think me
mad. During those travels I passed a secluded valley, and saw what I swear
was mist, not fog. It was moving across the landscape, creeping toward me.
During the full light of day."
Elend glanced at Ham. He shrugged. "Don't look at me."
Breeze snorted. "He was asking your opinion, my dear man."
"Well, I don't have one."
"Some philosopher you are."
"I'm not a philosopher," Ham said. "I just like to think about things."
"Well, think about this, then," Breeze said.
Elend glanced at Sazed. "Have those two always been this way?"
"Honestly, I am not certain, Your Majesty," Sazed said, smiling slightly.
"I have known them for only slightly longer than yourself."
"Yes, they've always been like this," Dockson said, sighing quietly. "If
anything, they've gotten worse over the years."
"Aren't you hungry?" Elend asked, nodding to Sazed's plate.
"I can eat once our discussion is finished," Sazed said.
"Sazed, you're not a servant anymore," Vin said. "You don't have to
worry about things like that."
"It is not a matter of serving or not, Lady Vin," Sazed said. "It is a matter
of being polite."
"Sazed," Elend said.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
He pointed at the plate. "Eat. You can be polite another time. Right now,
you look famished—and you're among friends."
Sazed paused, giving Elend an odd look. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said,
picking up a knife and spoon.
"Now," Elend began, "why does it matter if you saw mist during the day?
We know that the things the skaa say aren't true—there's no reason to fear
the mist."
"The skaa may be more wise than we credit them, Your Majesty," Sazed
said, taking small, careful bites of food. "It appears that the mist has been
killing people."
"What?" Vin asked, leaning forward.
"I have never seen it myself, Lady Vin," Sazed said. "But I have seen its
effects, and have collected several separate reports. They all agree that the
mist has been killing people."
"That's preposterous," Breeze said. "Mist is harmless."
"That is what I thought, Lord Ladrian," Sazed said. "However, several of
the reports are quite detailed. The incidents always occurred during the day,
and each one tells of the mist curling around some unfortunate individual,
who then died—usually in a seizure. I gathered interviews with witnesses
myself."
Elend frowned. From another man, he'd dismiss the news. But Sazed. .
.he was not a man that one dismissed. Vin, sitting beside Elend, watched the
conversation with interest, chewing slightly on her bottom lip. Oddly, she
didn't object to Sazed's words—though the others seemed to be reacting as
Breeze had.
"It doesn't make sense, Saze," Ham said. "Thieves, nobles, and
Allomancers have gone out in the mists for centuries."
"Indeed they have, Lord Hammond," Sazed said with a nod. "The only
explanation I can think of involves the Lord Ruler. I heard no substantive
reports of mist deaths before the Collapse, but I have had little trouble
finding them since. The reports are concentrated in the Outer Dominances,
but the incidents appear to be moving inward. I found one. . .very disturbing
incident several weeks to the south, where an entire village seems to have
been trapped in their hovels by the mists."
"But, why would the Lord Ruler's death have anything to do with the
mists?" Breeze asked.
"I am not certain, Lord Ladrian," Sazed said. "But it is the only
connection I have been able to hypothesize."
Breeze frowned. "I wish you wouldn't call me that."
"I apologize, Lord Breeze," Sazed said. "I am still acc1ustomed to calling
people by their full names."
"Your name is Ladrian?" Vin asked.
"Unfortunately," Breeze said. "I've never been fond of it, and with dear
Sazed putting 'Lord' before it. . .well, the alliteration makes it even more
atrocious."
"Is it me," Elend said, "or are we going off on even more tangents than
usual tonight?"
"We get that way when we're tired," Breeze said with a yawn. "Either
way, our good Terrisman must have his facts wrong. Mist doesn't kill."
"I can only report what I have discovered," Sazed said. "I will need to do
some more research."
"So, you'll be staying?" Vin asked, obviously hopeful.
Sazed nodded.
"What about teaching?" Breeze asked, waving his hand. "When you left,
I recall that you said something about spending the rest of your life
traveling, or some nonsense like that."
Sazed blushed slightly, glancing down again. "That duty will have to
wait, I fear."
"You're welcome to stay as long as you want, Sazed," Elend said,
shooting a glare at Breeze. "If what you say is true, then you'll be doing a
greater service through your studies than you would by traveling."
"Perhaps," Sazed said.
"Though," Ham noted with a chuckle, "you probably could have picked a
safer place to set up shop—one that isn't being pushed around by two
armies and twenty thousand koloss."
Sazed smiled, and Elend gave an obligatory chuckle. He said that the
incidents involving the mist were moving inward, toward the center of the
empire. Toward us.
Something else to worry about.
"What's going on?" a voice suddenly asked. Elend turned toward the
kitchen doorway, where a disheveled-looking Allrianne stood. "I heard
voices. Is there a party?"
"We were just discussing matters of state interest, my dear," Breeze said
quickly.
"The other girl is here," Allrianne said, pointing at Vin. "Why didn't you
invite me?"
Elend frowned. She heard voices? The guest quarters aren't anywhere
near the kitchens. And Allrianne was dressed, wearing a simple
noblewoman's gown. She'd taken the time to get out of her sleeping
clothing, but she'd left her hair disheveled. Perhaps to make herself look
more innocent?
I'm starting to think like Vin, Elend told himself with a sigh. As if to
corroborate his thoughts, he noticed Vin narrowing her eyes at the new girl.
"Go back to your rooms, dear," Breeze said soothingly. "Don't trouble
His Majesty."
Allrianne sighed dramatically, but turned and did as he asked, trailing off
into the hallway. Elend turned back to Sazed, who was watching the girl
with a curious expression. Elend gave him an "ask later" look, and the
Terrisman turned back to his meal. A few moments later, the group began to
break up. Vin hung back with Elend as the others left.
"I don't trust that girl," Vin said as a couple of servants took Sazed's pack
and guided him away.
Elend smiled, turning to look down at Vin. "Do I have to say it?"
She rolled her eyes. "I know. 'You don't trust anyone, Vin.' This time I'1m
right. She was dressed, but her hair was disheveled. She must have done
that intentionally."
"I noticed."
"You did?" She sounded impressed.
Elend nodded. "She must have heard the servants waking up Breeze and
Clubs, so she got up. That means she spent a good half an hour
eavesdropping. She kept her hair mussed so that we'd assume that she'd just
come down."
Vin opened her mouth slightly, then frowned, studying him. "You're
getting better," she eventually said.
"Either that, or Miss Allrianne just isn't very good."
Vin smiled.
"I'm still trying to figure out why you didn't hear her," Elend noted.
"The cooks," Vin said. "Too much noise. Besides, I was a little distracted
by what Sazed was saying."
"And what do you think of it?"
Vin paused. "I'll tell you later."
"All right," Elend said. To Vin's side, the kandra rose and stretched its
wolfhound body. Why did she insist on bringing OreSeur to the meeting? he
wondered. Wasn't it just a few weeks ago that she couldn't stand the thing?
The wolfhound turned, glancing at the kitchen windows. Vin followed its
gaze.
"Going back out?" Elend asked.
Vin nodded. "I don't trust this night. I'll stay near your balcony, in case
there's trouble."
She kissed him; then she moved away. He watched her go, wondering
why she had been so interested in Sazed's stories, wondering what it was
she wasn't telling him.
Stop it, he told himself. Perhaps he was learning her lessons a little too
well—of all the people in the palace, Vin was the last one he needed to be
paranoid about. However, every time he felt like he was beginning to figure
Vin out, he realized just how little he understood her.
And that made everything else seem a little more depressing. With a sigh,
he turned to seek out his rooms, where his half-finished letter to the
Assembly waited to be completed.
Perhaps I should not have spoken of the mists, Sazed thought, following
a servant up the stairs. Now I've troubled the king about something that
might just be my delusion.
They reached the top of the stairs, and the servant asked if he wished a
bath drawn. Sazed shook his head. In most other circumstances he would
have welcomed the opportunity to get clean. However, running all the way
to the Central Dominance, being captured by the koloss, then marching the
rest of the way up to Luthadel had left him wearied to the farthest fringe of
exhaustion. He'd barely had the strength to eat. Now he just wanted to
sleep.
The servant nodded and led Sazed down a side corridor.
What if he was imagining connections that didn't exist? Every scholar
knew that one of the greatest dangers in research was the desire to find a
specific answer. He had not imagined the testimonies he had taken, but had
he exaggerated their importance? What did he really have? The words of a
frightened man who had seen his friend die of a seizure? The testimony of a
lunatic, crazed to the point of cannibalism? The fact remained that Sazed
himself had never seen the mists kill.
The servant led him to a guest chamber, an1d Sazed thankfully bid the
man good night. He watched the man walk away, holding only a candle, his
lamp left for Sazed to use. During most of Sazed's life, he had belonged to a
class of servants prized for their refined sense of duty and decorum. He'd
been in charge of households and manors, supervising servants just like the
one who had led him to his rooms.
Another life, he thought. He had always been a little frustrated that his
duties as a steward had left him little time for study. How ironic it was that
he should help overthrow the Final Empire, then find himself with even less
time.
He reached to push open the door, and froze almost immediately. There
was already a light inside the room.
Did they leave a lamp on for me? he wondered. He slowly pushed the
door open. Someone was waiting for him.
"Tindwyl," Sazed said quietly. She sat beside the room's writing desk,
collected and neatly dressed, as always.
"Sazed," she replied as he stepped in, shutting the door. Suddenly, he was
even more acutely aware of his dirty robes.
"You responded to my request," he said.
"And you ignored mine."
Sazed didn't meet her eyes. He walked over, setting his lamp on top of
the room's bureau. "I noticed the king's new clothing, and he appears to
have gained a bearing to match them. You have done well, I think."
"We are only just started," she said dismissively. "You were right about
him."
"King Venture is a very good man," Sazed said, walking to the washbasin
to wipe down his face. He welcomed the cold water; dealing with Tindwyl
was bound to tire him even further.
"Good men can make terrible kings," Tindwyl noted.
"But bad men cannot make good kings," Sazed said. "It is better to start
with a good man and work on the rest, I think."
"Perhaps," Tindwyl said. She watched him with her normal hard
expression. Others thought her cold—harsh, even. But Sazed had never
seen that in her. Considering what she had been through, he found it
remarkable—amazing, even—that she was so confident. Where did she get
it?
"Sazed, Sazed. . ." she said. "Why did you return to the Central
Dominance? You know the directions the Synod gave you. You are
supposed to be in the Eastern Dominance, teaching the people on the
borders of the burnlands."
"That is where I was," Sazed said. "And now I am here. The South will
get along for a time without me, I think."
"Oh?" Tindwyl asked. "And who will teach them irrigation techniques, so
they can produce enough food to survive the cold months? Who will
explain to them basic lawmaking principles so that they may govern
themselves? Who will show them how to reclaim their lost faiths and
beliefs? You were always so passionate about that."
Sazed set down the washcloth. "I will return to teach them when I am
certain there is not a greater work I need to do."
"What greater work could there be?" Tindwyl demanded. "This is our
life's duty, Sazed. This is the work of our entire people. I know that
Luthadel is important to you, but there is nothing for you here. I will care
for your king. You must go."
"I appreciate your work with King Venture," Sazed said. "My course has
little to do with him, however. I have other research to 1do."
Tindwyl frowned, eyeing him with a cool stare. "You're still looking for
this phantom connection of yours. This foolishness with the mists."
"There is something wrong, Tindwyl," he said.
"No," Tindwyl said, sighing. "Can't you see, Sazed? You spent ten years
working to overthrow the Final Empire. Now, you can't content yourself
with regular work, so you have invented some grand threat to the land.
You're afraid of being irrelevant."
Sazed looked down. "Perhaps. If you are correct, then I will seek the
forgiveness of the Synod. I should probably seek it anyway, I think."
"Oh, Sazed," Tindwyl said, shaking her head slightly. "I can't understand
you. It makes sense when young fire-heads like Vedzan and Rindel buck the
Synod's advice. But you? You are the soul of what it means to be Terris—so
calm, so humble, so careful and respectful. So wise. Why are you the one
who consistently defies our leaders? It doesn't make sense."
"I am not so wise as you think, Tindwyl," Sazed said quietly. "I am
simply a man who must do as he believes. Right now, I believe there to be a
danger in the mists, and I must investigate my impressions. Perhaps it is
simply arrogance and foolishness. But I would rather be known as arrogant
and foolish than risk danger to the people of this land."
"You will find nothing."
"Then I will be proven wrong," Sazed said. He turned, looking into her
eyes. "But kindly remember that the last time I disobeyed the Synod, the
result was the collapse of the Final Empire and the freedom of our people."
Tindwyl made a tight-lipped frown. She didn't like being reminded of
that fact—none of the Keepers did. They held that Sazed had been wrong to
disobey, but they couldn't very well punish him for his success.
"I don't understand you," she repeated quietly. "You should be a leader
among our people, Sazed. Not our greatest rebel and dissident. Everyone
wants to look up to you—but they can't. Must you defy every order you are
given?"
He smiled wanly, but did not answer.
Tindwyl sighed, rising. She walked toward the door, but paused, taking
his hand as she passed. She looked into his eyes for a moment; then he
removed the hand.
She shook her head and left.
He commanded kings, and though he sought no empire, he became
greater than all who had come before.
24
SOMETHING IS GOING ON, VIN thought, sitting in the mists atop
Keep Venture.
Sazed was not prone to exaggeration. He was meticulous—that much
showed in his mannerisms, his cleanliness, and even the way he spoke.
And, he was even more meticulous when it came to his studies. Vin was
inclined to believe his discoveries.
And she'd certainly seen things in the mists. Dangerous things. Could the
mist spirit explain the deaths Sazed had encountered? But, if that's the case,
why didn't Sazed speak of figures in the mist?
She sighed, closing her eyes and burning bronze. She could hear the
spirit, watching nearby. And, she could hear it again as well, the strange
thumping in the distance. She opened her eyes, leaving her bronze on, and
quietly unfolded something from her pocket: a sheet from 1the logbook. By
the light from Elend's balcony below, and with tin, she could easily read the
words.
I sleep but a few hours each night. We must press forward,
traveling as much as we can each day—but when I finally lie
down, I find sleep elusive. The same thoughts that trouble me
during the day are only compounded by the stillness of night.
And, above it all, I hear the thumping sounds from above, the
pulsings from the mountains. Drawing me closer with each
beat.
She shivered. She had asked one of Elend's seekers to burn bronze, and
he had claimed to hear nothing from the north. Either he was the kandra,
lying to her about his ability to burn bronze, or Vin could hear a rhythm that
nobody else could. Nobody except a man a thousand years dead.
A man everyone had assumed was the Hero of Ages.
You're being silly, she told herself, refolding the paper. Jumping to
conclusions. To her side, OreSeur rustled, lying quietly and staring out over
the city.
And yet, she kept thinking of Sazed's words. Something was happening
with the mists. Something was wrong.
Zane didn't find her atop Keep Hasting.
He stopped in the mists, standing quietly. He'd expected to find her
waiting, for this was the place of their last fight. Even thinking of the event
made him tense with anticipation.
During the months of sparring, they had always met again at the place
where he'd eventually lost her. Yet, he'd returned to this location on several
nights, and had never found her. He frowned, thinking of Straff's orders,
and of necessity.
Eventually, he would likely be ordered to kill this girl. He wasn't certain
what bothered him more—his growing reluctance to consider such an act,
or his growing worry that he might not actually be able to beat her.
She could be it, he thought. The thing that finally lets me resist. The thing
that convinces me to just. . .leave.
He couldn't explain why he needed a reason. Part of him simply ascribed
it to his insanity, though the rational part of him felt that was a weak excuse.
Deep down, he admitted that Straff was all he had ever known. Zane
wouldn't be able to leave until he knew he had someone else to rely on.
He turned away from Keep Hasting. He'd had enough of waiting; it was
time to seek her out. Zane threw a coin, bounding across the city for a time.
And, sure enough, there she was: sitting atop Keep Venture, watching over
his foolish brother.
Zane rounded the keep, keeping far enough away that even tin-enhanced
eyes wouldn't see him. He landed on the back of the keep's roof, then
walked forward quietly. He approached, watching her sit on the edge of the
roof. The air was silent.
Finally, she turned around, jumping slightly. He swore that she could
sense him when she shouldn't be able to.
Either way, he was discovered.
"Zane," Vin said flatly, easily identifying the silhouette. He wore his
customary black on black, with no mistcloak.
"I've been waiting," he said quietly. "Atop Keep Hasting. Hoping you'd
come."
She sighed, careful to keep an eye on h1im, but relaxing slightly. "I'm not
really in the mood for sparring right now."
He watched her. "Pity," he finally said. He walked over, prompting Vin to
rise cautiously to her feet. He paused beside the lip of the rooftop, looking
down at Elend's lit balcony.
Vin glanced at OreSeur. He was tense, alternately watching her and Zane.
"You're so worried about him," Zane said quietly.
"Elend?" Vin asked.
Zane nodded. "Even though he uses you."
"We've had this discussion, Zane. He isn't using me."
Zane looked up at her, meeting her eyes, standing straight-backed and
confident in the night.
He's so strong, she thought. So sure of himself. So different from. . .
She stopped herself.
Zane turned away. "Tell me, Vin," he said, "when you were younger, did
you ever wish for power?"
Vin cocked her head, frowning at the strange question. "What do you
mean?"
"You grew up on the streets," Zane said. "When you were younger, did
you wish for power? Did you dream of having the ability to free yourself, to
kill those who brutalized you?"
"Of course I did," Vin said.
"And now you have that power," Zane said. "What would the child Vin
say if she could see you? A Mistborn who is bent and bowed by the weight
of another's will? Powerful, yet somehow still subservient?"
"I'm a different person now, Zane," Vin said. "I'd like to think that I've
learned things since I was a child."
"I've found that a child's instincts are often the most honest," Zane said.
"The most natural."
Vin didn't respond.
Zane turned quietly, looking out over the city, seemingly unconcerned
that he was exposing his back to her. Vin eyed him, then dropped a coin. It
plinked against the metal rooftop, and he immediately glanced back toward
her.
No, she thought, he doesn't trust me.
He turned away again, and Vin watched him. She did understand what he
meant, for she had once thought as he did. Idly, she wondered what kind of
person she might have become if she'd gained full access to her powers
without—at the same time—learning of friendship and trust from Kelsier's
crew.
"What would you do, Vin?" Zane asked, turning back toward her.
"Assuming you didn't have any constraints—assuming there were no
repercussions for your actions?"
Go north. The thought was immediate. Find out what is causing that
thumping. She didn't say it, however. "I don't know," she said instead.
He turned, eyeing her. "You aren't taking me seriously, I see. I apologize
for wasting your time."
He turned to go, walking directly between her and OreSeur. Vin watched
him, and felt a sudden stab of concern. He'd come to her, willing to talk
rather than just fight—and she'd wasted the opportunity. She was never
going to turn him to her side if she didn't talk to him.
"You want to know what I'd do?" she asked, her voice ringing in the
silent mists.
Zane paused.
"If I could just use my power as I wanted?" Vin asked. "No repercussions?
I'd protect him."
"Your king?" Zane asked, turning.
Vin nodded sharply. "These men who brought armies against him—your
master, this man named Cett. I'd kill them. I'd use my power to make certain
that nobody could threaten Elend."
Zane nodded quietly, and she saw respect in his eyes. "And why don't
you?"
"Because. . ."
"I see the confusion in your eyes," Zane said. "You know that your
instincts to kill those men are right—yet you hold back. Because of him."
"There would be repercussions, Zane," Vin said. "If I killed those men,
their armies might just attack. Right now, diplomacy could still work."
"Perhaps," Zane said. "Until he asks you to go kill someone for him."
Vin snorted. "Elend doesn't work that way. He doesn't give me orders,
and the only people I kill are the ones who try to kill him first."
"Oh?" Zane said. "You may not act at his order, Vin, but you certainly
refrain from action at it. You are his toy. I don't say this to insult you—you
see, I'm as much a toy as you are. Neither of us can break free. Not alone."
Suddenly, the coin Vin had dropped snapped into the air, flying toward
Zane. She tensed, but it simply streaked into Zane's waiting hand.
"It's interesting," he said, turning the coin in his fingers. "Many Mistborn
stop seeing the value in coins. To us, they simply become something to be
used for jumping. It's easy to forget the value of something when you use it
so often. When it becomes commonplace and convenient to you. When it
becomes. . .just a tool."
He flipped the coin up, then shot it out into the night. "I must go," he
said, turning.
Vin raised a hand. Seeing him use Allomancy made her realize that there
was another reason she wanted to speak with him. It had been so long since
she'd talked with another Mistborn, one who understood her powers.
Someone like her.
But, it seemed to her that she was too desperate for him to stay. So she let
him go, and returned to her vigil.
He fathered no children, yet all of the land became his progeny.
25
VIN WAS A VERY LIGHT sleeper—a heritage from her youth.
Thieving crews worked together out of necessity, and any man who couldn't
guard his own possessions was considered to be unworthy of them. Vin, of
course, had been at the very bottom of the hierarchy—and while she hadn't
had many possessions to protect, being a young girl in a primarily male
environment gave her other reasons to be a light sleeper.
So it was that when she awoke to a quiet bark of warning, she reacted
without thinking. She tossed off her covers, reaching immediately for the
vial on her bedstand. She didn't sleep with metals inside of her; many of the
Allomantic metals were, to some small extent, poisonous. It was
unavoidable that she'd have to deal with some of that danger, but she had
been warned to burn away excess metals at the end of each day.
She downed this vial even as she reached for the obsidian daggers hidden
beneath her pillow. The door to her sleeping chamber swung open, and
Tind1wyl walked in. The Terriswoman froze in midstep as she saw Vin
crouching on the bed's footboard a few feet away, twin daggers glistening,
body tense.
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. "So you are awake."
"Now."
The Terriswoman smiled.
"What are you doing in my rooms?" Vin demanded.
"I came to wake you. I thought we might go shopping."
"Shopping?"
"Yes, dear," Tindwyl said, walking over to pull open the curtains. It was
far earlier in the day than Vin usually rose. "From what I hear, you're going
to meet with His Majesty's father on the morrow. You'll want a suitable
dress for the occasion, I assume?"
"I don't wear dresses anymore." What is your game?
Tindwyl turned, eyeing Vin. "You sleep in your clothing?"
Vin nodded.
"You don't keep any ladies-in-waiting?"
Vin shook her head.
"Very well, then," Tindwyl said, turning to walk from the room. "Bathe
and change. We'll leave when you're ready."
"I don't take commands from you."
Tindwyl paused by the door, turning. Then her face softened. "I know
you don't, child. You may come with me if you wish—the choice is yours.
However, do you really want to meet with Straff Venture in trousers and a
shirt?"
Vin hesitated.
"At least come browse," Tindwyl said. "It will help take your mind off
things."
Finally, Vin nodded. Tindwyl smiled again, then left.
Vin glanced at OreSeur, who sat beside her bed. "Thanks for the
warning."
The kandra shrugged.
Once, Vin wouldn't have been able to imagine living in a place like Keep
Venture. The young Vin had been accustomed to hidden lairs, skaa hovels,
and the occasional alley. Now she lived in a building bespeckled with
stained glass, bounded by mighty walls and grand archways.
Of course, Vin thought as she left the stairwell, many things have
happened that I didn't expect. Why think about them now?
Her youth in the thieving crews had been much on her mind of late, and
Zane's comments—ridiculous though they were—itched in her mind. Did
Vin belong in a place like this keep? She had a great many skills, but few of
them were beautiful hallway kinds of skills. They were more. . .ash-stained
alleyway kinds of skills.
She sighed, OreSeur at her side as she made her way to the southern
entryway, where Tindwyl said she'd be waiting. The hallway here grew
wide and grand, and opened directly into the courtyard. Usually, coaches
came right up into the entryway to pick up their occupants—that way the
noblemen wouldn't be exposed to the elements.
As she approached, her tin let her hear voices. One was Tindwyl, the
other. . .
"I didn't bring much," Allrianne said. "A couple hundred boxings. But I
do so need something to wear. I can't survive on borrowed gowns forever!"
Vin paused as she turned into the last part of the hallway.
"The king'1s gift will surely be enough to pay for a dress, dear," Tindwyl
said, noticing Vin. "Ah, here she is."
A sullen-looking Spook stood with the two women. He had on his palace
guard's uniform, though he wore the jacket undone and the trousers loose.
Vin walked forward slowly. "I wasn't expecting company," she said.
"Young Allrianne was trained as a courtly noblewoman," Tindwyl said.
"She will know the current fashions, and will be able to advise on your
purchases."
"And Spook?"
Tindwyl turned, eyeing the boy. "Packman."
Well, that explains his mood, Vin thought.
"Come," Tindwyl said, walking toward the courtyard. Allrianne followed
quickly, walking with a light, graceful step. Vin glanced at Spook, who
shrugged, and they followed as well.
"How did you get pulled into this?" Vin whispered to Spook.
"Was up too early, sneaking food," Spook grumbled. "Miss Imposing
there noticed me, smiled like a wolfhound, and said, 'We'll be needing your
services this afternoon, young man.'"
Vin nodded. "Stay alert and keep your tin burning. Remember, we're at
war."
Spook obediently did what she said. Standing close to him as she was,
Vin easily picked up and identified his tin's Allomantic pulses—meaning he
wasn't the spy.
Another one off the list, Vin thought. At least this trip won't be a total
waste.
A coach waited for them by the front keep gates. Spook climbed up
beside the coachman, and the women piled into the back. Vin sat down
inside, and OreSeur climbed in and took the seat next to her. Allrianne and
Tindwyl sat across from her, and Allrianne eyed OreSeur with a frown,
wrinkling her nose. "Does the animal have to sit on the seats with us?"
"Yes," Vin said as the carriage started moving.
Allrianne obviously expected more of an explanation, but Vin didn't give
one. Finally, Allrianne turned to look out the window. "Are you sure we'll
be safe, traveling with only one manservant, Tindwyl?"
Tindwyl eyed Vin. "Oh, I think that we'll be all right."
"Oh, that's right," Allrianne said, looking back at Vin. "You're an
Allomancer! Are the things they say true?"
"What things?" Vin asked quietly.
"Well, they say you killed the Lord Ruler, for one. And that you're kind
of. . .um. . .well." Allrianne bit her lip. "Well, just a little bit rickety."
"Rickety?"
"And dangerous," Allrianne said. "But, well, that can't be true. I mean,
you're going shopping with us, right?"
Is she trying to provoke me on purpose?
"Do you always wear clothing like that?" Allrianne asked.
Vin was in her standard gray trousers and tan shirt. "It's easy to fight in."
"Yes, but. . .well." Allrianne smiled. "I guess that's why we're here today,
right, Tindwyl?"
"Yes, dear," Tindwyl said. She'd been studying Vin through the entire
conversation.
Like what you see? Vin thought. What is it you want?
"You have to be the strangest noblewoman I've ever met," Allrianne
declared. "Did you grow up far from court? I did, but my mother was quite
certain to train me well. Of course, she was just trying to make me into a
good catch so Father could auction me off to make an alliance."
Allrianne smiled. It had been a while since Vin had been forced to deal
with women like her. She remembered hours spent at court, smiling,
pretending to be Valette Renoux. Often when she thought of those days, she
remembered the bad things. The spite she'd faced from court members, her
own lack of comfort in the role.
But, there had also been good things. Elend was one. She would never
have met him if she hadn't been pretending to be a noblewoman. And the
balls—with their colors, their music, and their gowns—had held a certain
transfixing charm. The graceful dancing, the careful interactions, the
perfectly decorated rooms. . .
Those things are gone now, she told herself. We don't have time for silly
balls and gatherings, not when the dominance is on the verge of collapse.
Tindwyl was still watching her.
"Well?" Allrianne asked.
"What?" Vin asked.
"Did you grow up far from court?"
"I'm not noble, Allrianne. I'm skaa."
Allrianne paled, then flushed, then raised her fingers to her lips. "Oh!
You poor thing!" Vin's augmented ears heard something beside her—a light
chuckling from OreSeur, soft enough that only an Allomancer could have
heard him.
She resisted the urge to shoot the kandra a flat look. "It wasn't so bad,"
she said.
"But, well, no wonder you don't know how to dress!" Allrianne said.
"I know how to dress," Vin said. "I even own a few gowns." Not that I've
put one on in months. . ..
Allrianne nodded, though she obviously didn't believe Vin's comment.
"Breezy is skaa, too," she said quietly. "Or, half skaa. He told me. Good
thing he didn't tell Father—Father never has been very nice to skaa."
Vin didn't reply.
Eventually, they reached Kenton Street, and the crowds made the carriage
a liability. Vin climbed out first, OreSeur hopping down to the cobblestones
beside her. The market street was busy, though not as packed as it had been
the last time she'd visited. Vin glanced over the prices at some nearby shops
as the others exited the coach.
Five boxings for a bin of aging apples, Vin thought with dissatisfaction.
Food is already going at a premium. Elend had stores, fortunately. But how
long would they last before the siege? Not through the approaching winter,
certainly—not with so much of the dominance's grain still unharvested in
the outer plantations.
Time may be our friend now, Vin thought, but it will turn on us
eventually. They had to get those armies to fight each other. Otherwise, the
city's people might die of starvation before the soldiers even tried to take
the walls.
Spook hopped down from the carriage, joining them as Tindwyl surveyed
the street. Vin eyed the bustling crowds. The people were obviously trying
to go about their daily activities, despite the threat from outside. What else
could they do? The siege had already lasted for weeks. Life had to go on.
"There," Tindwyl said, point1ing to a dressmaker's shop.
Allrianne scampered forward. Tindwyl followed behind, walking with
modest decorum. "Eager young thing, isn't she?" the Terriswoman asked.
Vin shrugged. The blond noblewoman had already gotten Spook's
attention; he was following her with a lively step. Of course, it wasn't hard
to get Spook's attention. You just had to have breasts and smell nice—and
the second was sometimes optional.
Tindwyl smiled. "She probably hasn't had an opportunity to go shopping
since she left with her father's army weeks ago."
"You sound like you think she went through some awful ordeal," Vin
said. "Just because she couldn't go shopping."
"She obviously enjoys it," Tindwyl said. "Surely you can understand
being taken from that which you love."
Vin shrugged as they reached the shop. "I have trouble feeling sympathy
for a courtly puff who is tragically taken from her dresses."
Tindwyl frowned slightly as they entered the shop, OreSeur settling
down to wait outside. "Do not be so hard on the child. She is a product of
her upbringing, just as you are. If you judge her worth based on frivolities,
then you are doing the same as those who judge you based on your simple
clothing."
"I like it when people judge me based on my simple clothing," Vin said.
"Then they don't expect too much."
"I see," Tindwyl said. "Then, you haven't missed this at all?" She nodded
toward the shop's inner room.
Vin paused. The room burst with colors and fabric, lace and velvet,
bodices and skirts. Everything was powdered with a light perfume.
Standing before the dressing dummies in their brilliant hues, Vin was—for
just a moment—again taken back to the balls. Back to when she was
Valette. Back to when she had an excuse to be Valette.
"They say you enjoyed noble society," Tindwyl said lightly, walking
forward. Allrianne was already standing near the front of the room, running
her fingers across a bolt of fabric, talking to the dressmaker in a firm voice.
"Who told you that?" Vin asked.
Tindwyl turned back. "Why, your friends, dear. It's quite curious—they
say you stopped wearing dresses a few months after the Collapse. They all
wonder why. They say you seemed to like dressing like a woman, but I
guess they were wrong."
"No," Vin said quietly. "They were right."
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow, pausing beside a dressmaker's dummy in a
bright green dress, edged with lace, the bottom flaring wide with several
underskirts.
Vin approached, looking up at the gorgeous costume. "I was beginning to
like dressing like this. That was the problem."
"I don't see a problem in that, dear."
Vin turned away from the gown. "This isn't me. It never was—it was just
an act. When wearing a dress like that, it's too easy to forget who you really
are."
"And these dresses can't be part of who you really are?"
Vin shook her head. "Dresses and gowns are part of who she is." She
nodded toward Allrianne. "I need to be something else. Something harder."
I shouldn't have come here.
Tindwyl laid a hand on Vin's shoulder. "Why haven't you married him,
child?"
Vin looked up sharply. "What kind of question is that?"
"An honest one," Tindwyl said. She seemed far less harsh than she had
been the other times Vin had met her. Of course, during those times, she had
mostly been addressing Elend.
"That topic is not your concern," Vin said.
"The king has asked me to help him improve his image," Tindwyl said.
"And I have taken it upon myself to do more than that—I want to make a
real king of him, if I can. There is some great potential in him, I think.
However, he's not going to be able to realize it until he's more sure about
certain things in his life. You in particular."
"I. . ." Vin closed her eyes, remembering his marriage proposal. That
night, on the balcony, ash lightly falling in the night. She remembered her
terror. She'd known, of course, where the relationship was going. Why had
she been so frightened?
That was the day she'd stopped wearing dresses.
"He shouldn't have asked me," Vin said quietly, opening her eyes. "He
can't marry me."
"He loves you, child," Tindwyl said. "In a way, that is unfortunate—this
would all be much easier if he could feel otherwise. However, as things
stand. . ."
Vin shook her head. "I'm wrong for him."
"Ah," Tindwyl said. "I see."
"He needs something else," Vin said. "Something better. A woman who
can be a queen, not just a bodyguard. Someone. . ." Vin's stomach twisted.
"Someone more like her."
Tindwyl glanced toward Allrianne, who laughed at a comment made by
the elderly dressmaker as he took her measurements.
"You are the one he fell in love with, child," Tindwyl said.
"When I was pretending to be like her."
Tindwyl smiled. "Somehow, I doubt that you could be like Allrianne, no
matter how hard you practiced."
"Perhaps," Vin said. "Either way, it was my courtly performance that he
loved. He didn't know what I really was."
"And has he abandoned you now that he does know of it?"
"Well, no. But—"
"All people are more complex than they first appear," Tindwyl said.
"Allrianne, for instance, is eager and young—perhaps a bit too outspoken.
But she knows more of the court than many would expect, and she seems to
know how to recognize what is good in a person. That is a talent many lack.
"Your king is a humble scholar and thinker, but he has the will of a
warrior. He is a man who has the nerve to fight, and I think—perhaps—you
have yet to see the best of him. The Soother Breeze is a cynical, mocking
man—until he looks at young Allrianne. Then he softens, and one wonders
how much of his harsh unconcern is an act."
Tindwyl paused, looking at Vin. "And you. You are so much more than
you are willing to accept, child. Why look at only one side of yourself,
when your Elend sees so much more?"
"Is that what this is all about?" Vin said. "You trying to turn me into a
queen for Elend?"
"No, child," Tindwyl said. "I wish to help you turn into whoever you are.
Now, go let the man take your measurements so you can try on some stock
dresses."
Whoever I am? Vin thought, fro1wning. However, she let the tall
Terriswoman push her forward, and the elderly dressmaker took his tape
and began to measure.
A few moments and a changing room later, Vin stepped back into the
room wearing a memory. Silky blue with white lace, the gown was tight at
the waist and through the bust, but had a large, flowing bottom. The
numerous skirts made it flare out, tapering down in a triangular shape, her
feet completely covered, the bottom of the skirt flush with the floor.
It was terribly impractical. It rustled when she moved, and she had to be
careful where she stepped to keep it from catching or brushing a dirty
surface. But it was beautiful, and it made her feel beautiful. She almost
expected a band to start playing, Sazed to stand over her shoulder like a
protective sentry, and Elend to appear in the distance, lounging and
watching couples dance as he flipped through a book.
Vin walked forward, letting the dressmaker watch where the garment
pinched and where it bunched, and Allrianne let out an "Ooo" as she saw
Vin. The old dressmaker leaned on his cane, dictating notes to a young
assistant. "Move around a bit more, my lady," he requested. "Let me see
how it fits when you do more than just walk in a straight line."
Vin spun slightly, turning on one foot, trying to remember the dancing
moves Sazed had taught her.
I never did get to dance with Elend, she realized, stepping to the side, as
if to music she could only faintly remember. He always found an excuse to
wiggle out of it.
She twirled, getting a feel for the dress. She would have thought that her
instincts would have decayed. Now that she had one on again, however, she
was surprised at how easy it was to fall back into those habits—stepping
lightly, turning so that the bottom of the dress flared just a bit. . ..
She paused. The dressmaker was no longer dictating. He watched her
quietly, smiling.
"What?" Vin asked, flushing.
"I'm sorry, my lady," he said, turning to tap on his assistant's notebook,
sending the boy away with a point of his finger. "But I don't rightly think
I've ever seen someone move so gracefully. Like a. . .passing breath."
"You flatter me," Vin said.
"No, child," Tindwyl said, standing to the side. "He's right. You move
with a grace that most women can only envy."
The dressmaker smiled again, turning as his assistant approached with a
group of square cloth color samples. The old man began to sort through
them with a wizened hand, and Vin stepped over to Tindwyl, holding her
hands at the sides, trying not to let the traitorous dress take control of her
again.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" Vin demanded quietly.
"Why shouldn't I be?" Tindwyl asked.
"Because you're mean to Elend," Vin said. "Don't deny it—I've listened
in on your lessons. You spend the time insulting and disparaging him. But
now you're pretending to be nice."
Tindwyl smiled. "I am not pretending, child."
"Then why are you so mean to Elend?"
"The lad grew up as a pampered son of a great lord," Tindwyl said. "Now
that he's king, he needs a little harsh truth, I think." She paused, glancing
down at Vin. "I sense that you've had quite enough of that in your life."
The dressmaker app1roached with his swatches, spreading them out on a
low table. "Now, my lady," he said, tapping one group with a bent finger. "I
think your coloring would look particularly good with dark cloth. A nice
maroon, perhaps?"
"What about a black?" Vin asked.
"Heavens, no," Tindwyl said. "Absolutely no more black or gray for you,
child."
"What about this one, then?" Vin asked, pulling out a royal blue swatch.
It was nearly the shade she'd worn the first night she'd met Elend, so long
ago.
"Ah, yes," the dressmaker said. "That would look wonderful against that
light skin and dark hair. Hum, yes. Now, we'll have to pick a style. You
need this by tomorrow evening, the Terriswoman said?"
Vin nodded.
"Ah, then. We'll have to modify one of the stock dresses, but I think I
have one in this color. We'll have to take it in quite a bit, but we can work
through the night for a beauty like yourself, can't we, lad? Now, as for the
style. . ."
"This is fine, I guess," Vin said, looking down. The gown was the
standard cut of those she'd worn at previous balls.
"Well, we're not looking for 'fine,' now, are we?" the dressmaker said
with a smile.
"What if we removed some of the pettiskirts?" Tindwyl said, pulling at
the sides of Vin's dress. "And perhaps raised the hem just a bit, so that she
could move more freely?"
Vin paused. "You could do that?"
"Of course," the dressmaker said. "The lad says thinner skirts are more
popular to the south, though they tend to lag in fashion a bit behind
Luthadel." He paused. "Though, I don't know that Luthadel even really has
a fashion anymore. . .."
"Make cuffs of the sleeves wide," Tindwyl said. "And sew a couple of
pockets into them for certain personal items."
The old man nodded as his quiet assistant scribbled down the suggestion.
"The chest and waist can be tight," Tindwyl continued, "but not
restrictive. Lady Vin needs to be able to move freely."
The old man paused. "Lady Vin?" he asked. He looked a little closer at
Vin, squinting, then turned to his assistant. The boy nodded quietly.
"I see. . ." the man said, paling, hand shaking just a little bit more. He
placed it on the top of his cane, as if to give himself a little more stability.
"I'm. . .I'm sorry if I offended you, my lady. I didn't know."
Vin flushed again. Another reason why I shouldn't go shopping. "No,"
she said, reassuring the man. "It's all right. You haven't offended me."
He relaxed slightly, and Vin noticed Spook strolling over.
"Looks like we've been found," Spook said, nodding to the front
windows.
Vin glanced past dressing dummies and bales of cloth to see a crowd
gathering outside. Tindwyl watched Vin with curiosity.
Spook shook his head. "Why do you get to be so popular?"
"I killed their god," Vin said quietly, ducking around a dressing dummy,
hiding from the dozens of peeking eyes.
"I helped too," Spook said. "I even got my nickname from Kelsier
himself! But nobody cares about poor little Spook."
Vin scanned the room for windows. There's got to be a back door. Of
course, there might be people in the alley.
"What are you doing?" Tindwyl asked.
"I have to go," Vin said. "Get away from them."
"Why don't you go out and talk to them?" Tindwyl asked. "They're
obviously very interested in seeing you."
Allrianne emerged from a dressing room—wearing a gown of yellow and
blue—and twirled dramatically. She was obviously put out when she didn't
even get Spook's attention.
"I'm not going out there," Vin said. "Why would I want to do something
like that?"
"They need hope," Tindwyl said. "Hope you can give them."
"A false hope," Vin said. "I'd only encourage them to think of me as
some object of worship."
"That's not true," Allrianne said suddenly, walking forward, looking out
the windows without the least bit of embarrassment. "Hiding in corners,
wearing strange clothing, and being mysterious—that's what has gotten you
this amazing reputation. If people knew how ordinary you were, they
wouldn't be so crazy to get a look at you." She paused, then looked back. "I.
. .uh, didn't mean that like I think it sounded."
Vin flushed. "I'm not Kelsier, Tindwyl. I don't want people to worship
me. I just want to be left alone."
"Some people don't have that choice, child," Tindwyl said. "You struck
down the Lord Ruler. You were trained by the Survivor, and you are the
king's consort."
"I'm not his consort," Vin said, flushing. "We're just. . ." Lord, even I
don't understand our relationship. How am I supposed to explain it?
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow.
"All right," Vin said, sighing and walking forward.
"I'll go with you," Allrianne said, grabbing Vin's arm as if they had been
friends since childhood. Vin resisted, but couldn't figure a way to pry her
off without making a scene.
They stepped out of the shop. The crowd was already large, and the
periphery was filling as more and more people came to investigate. Most
were skaa in brown, ash-stained work coats or simple gray dresses. The
ones in the front backed away as Vin stepped out, giving her a little ring of
empty space, and a murmur of awed excitement moved through the crowd.
"Wow," Allrianne said quietly. "There sure are a lot of them. . .."
Vin nodded. OreSeur sat where he had before, near the door, and he
watched her with a curious canine expression.
Allrianne smiled at the crowd, waving with a sudden hesitance. "You can,
you know, fight them off or something if this turns messy, right?"
"That won't be necessary," Vin said, finally slipping her arm free of
Allrianne's grasp and giving the crowd a bit of a Soothing to calm them.
After that, she stepped forward, trying to push down her sense of itching
nervousness. She'd grown to no longer feel she needed to hide when she
went out in public, but standing before a crowd like this. . .well, she almost
turned and slinked back into the dressmaker's shop.
A voice, however, stopped her. The speaker was a middle-aged man with
an ash-stained beard and a dirty black cap held nervously in his hands. He
was a strong man, probably a mill worker. His quiet voice seemed a contrast
to his powerful build. "Lady Heir. W1hat will become of us?"
The terror—the uncertainty—in the large man's voice was so piteous that
Vin hesitated. He regarded her with hopeful eyes, as did most of the others.
So many, Vin thought. I thought the Church of the Survivor was small.
She looked at the man, who stood wringing his cap. She opened her mouth,
but then. . .couldn't do it. She couldn't tell him that she didn't know what
would happen; she couldn't explain to those eyes that she wasn't the savior
that he needed.
"Everything will be all right," Vin heard herself say, increasing her
Soothing, trying to take away some of their fear.
"But the armies, Lady Heir!" one of the women said.
"They're trying to intimidate us," Vin said. "But the king won't let them.
Our walls are strong, as are our soldiers. We can outlast this siege."
The crowd was silent.
"One of those armies is led by Elend's father, Straff Venture," Vin said.
"Elend and I are going to go meet with Straff tomorrow. We will persuade
him to be our ally."
"The king is going to surrender!" a voice said. "I heard it. He's going to
trade the city for his life."
"No," Vin said. "He would never do that!!"
"He won't fight for us!" a voice called. "He's not a soldier. He's a
politician!"
Other voices called out in agreement. Reverence disappeared as people
began to yell out concerns, while others began to demand help. The
dissidents continued to rail against Elend, yelling that there was no way he
could protect them.
Vin raised her hands to her ears. Trying to ward off the crowd, the chaos.
"Stop!" she yelled, Pushing out with steel and brass. Several people
stumbled back away from her, and she could see a wave in the crowd as
buttons, coins, and buckles suddenly pressed backward.
The people grew suddenly quiet.
"I will suffer no ill words spoken of our king!" Vin said, flaring her brass
and increasing her Soothing. "He is a good man, and a good leader. He has
sacrificed much for you—your freedom comes because of his long hours
spent drafting laws, and your livelihoods come because of his work
securing trade routes and agreements with merchants."
Many members of the crowd looked down. The bearded man at the front
continued to twist his cap, however, looking at Vin. "They're just right
frightened, Lady Heir. Right frightened."
"We'll protect you," Vin said. What am I saying? "Elend and I, we'll find
a way. We stopped the Lord Ruler. We can stop these armies. . ." She trailed
off, feeling foolish.
Yet, the crowd responded. Some were obviously still unsatisfied, but
many seemed calmed. The crowd began to break up, though some of its
members came forward, leading or carrying small children. Vin paused
nervously. Kelsier had often met with and held the children of the skaa, as if
giving them his blessing. She bid the group a hasty farewell and ducked
back into the shop, pulling Allrianne after her.
Tindwyl waited inside, nodding with satisfaction.
"I lied," Vin said, pushing the door closed.
"No you didn't," Tindwyl said. "You were optimistic. The truth or fiction
of what you said has yet to be proven."
"It w1on't happen," Vin said. "Elend can't defeat three armies, not even
with my help."
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. "Then you should leave. Run away, leave the
people to deal with the armies themselves."
"I didn't mean that," Vin said.
"Well, make a decision then," Tindwyl said. "Either give up on the city or
believe in it. Honestly, the pair of you. . .." She shook her head.
"I thought you weren't going to be harsh with me," Vin noted.
"I have trouble with that sometimes," Tindwyl said. "Come, Allrianne.
Let's finish your fitting."
They moved to do so. However, at that moment—as if to belie Vin's
assurances of safety—several warning drums began to beat atop the city
wall.
Vin froze, glancing through the window, out over the anxious crowd.
One of the armies was attacking. Cursing the delay, she rushed into the
back of the shop to change out of the bulky dress.
Elend scrambled up the steps to the city wall, nearly tripping on his
dueling cane in his haste. He stumbled out of the stairwell, moving onto the
wall top, rearranging the cane at his side with a curse.
The wall top was in chaos. Men scrambled about, calling to each other.
Some had forgotten their armor, others their bows. So many tried to get up
after Elend that the stairwell got clogged, and he watched hopelessly as men
crowded around the openings below, creating an even larger jam of bodies
in the courtyard.
Elend spun, watching a large group of Straff's men—thousands of them
—rush toward the wall. Elend stood near Tin Gate, at the north of the city,
nearest Straff's army. He could see a separate group of soldiers rushing
toward Pewter Gate, a little to the east.
"Archers!" Elend yelled. "Men, where are your bows?"
His voice, however, was lost in the shouting. Captains moved about,
trying to organize the men, but apparently too many footmen had come to
the wall, leaving a lot of the archers trapped in the courtyard below.
Why? Elend thought desperately, turning back toward the charging army.
Why is he attacking? We had an a agreement to meet!
Had he, perhaps, gotten wind of Elend's plan to play both sides of the
conflict? Perhaps there really was a spy in the inner crew.
Either way, Elend could only watch hopelessly as the army approached
his wall. One captain managed to get off a pathetic volley of arrows, but it
didn't do much good. As the army approached, arrows began to zip up
toward the wall, mixed with flying coins. Straff had Allomancers in the
group.
Elend cursed, ducking down below a merlon as coins bounced against the
stonework. A few soldiers fell. Elend's soldiers. Killed because he'd been
too proud to surrender the city.
He peeked carefully over the wall. A group of men carrying a battering
ram were approaching, their bodies carefully protected by men with shields.
The care probably meant that the rammers were Thugs, a suspicion
confirmed by the sound the ram made when it smashed into the gate. That
was not the blow of ordinary men.
Hooks followed next. Shot up toward the wall by Coinshots below,
falling far more accurately than if they'd been thrown. Soldiers moved to
pull them off, but coins shot up, taking the men almost as quickly as they
made 1the attempt. The gate continued to thump beneath him, and he
doubted it would last for long.
And so we fall, Elend thought. With barely a hint of resistance.
And there was nothing he could do. He felt impotent, forced to keep
ducking down lest his white uniform make him a target. All of his
politicking, all of his preparations, all of his dreams and his plans. Gone.
And then Vin was there. She landed atop the wall, breathing hard, amid a
group of wounded men. Coins and arrows that came near to her deflected
back out into the air. Men rallied around her, moving to remove hooks and
pull the wounded to safety. Her knives cut ropes, dropping them back down
below. She met Elend's eyes, looking determined, then moved as if to leap
over the side of the wall and confront the Thugs with their battering ram.
Elend raised a hand, but someone else spoke.
"Vin, wait!" Clubs bellowed, bursting out of the stairwell.
She paused. Elend had never heard such a forceful command from the
gnarled general.
Arrows stopped flying. The booming calmed. Elend stood hesitantly,
watching with a frown as the army retreated back across the ash-strewn
fields toward their camp. They left a couple of corpses behind; Elend's men
had actually managed to hit a few with their arrows. His own army had
taken far heavier casualties: some two dozen men appeared to be wounded.
"What. . .?" Elend asked, turning to Clubs.
"They weren't putting up scaling ladders," Clubs said, eyeing the
retreating force. "This wasn't an actual attack."
"What was it then?" Vin asked, frowning.
"A test," Clubs said. "It's common in warfare—a quick skirmish to see
how your enemy responds, to feel out their tactics and preparations."
Elend turned, watching the disorganized soldiers make way for healers to
care for the wounded. "A test," he said, glancing at Clubs. "My guess is that
we didn't do very well."
Clubs shrugged. "Far worse than we should have. Maybe this will scare
the lads into paying better attention during drills." He paused, and Elend
could see something he wasn't expressing. Worry.
Elend glanced out over the wall, watching the retreating army. Suddenly,
it made sense. It was exactly the kind of move that his father liked to make.
The meeting with Straff would take place as planned. However, before it
happened, Straff wanted Elend to know something.
I can take this city any time, the attack seemed to say. It's mine, no matter
what you do. Remember that.
He was forced into war by a misunderstanding—and always claimed he
was no warrior—yet he came to fight as well as any man.
26
"THIS IS NOT A GOOD idea, Mistress." OreSeur sat on his haunches,
watching Vin unpack a large, flat box.
"Elend thinks it's the only way," she said, pulling off the top of the box.
The luxurious blue dress lay wrapped within. She pulled it out, noting its
comparatively light weight. She walked over to the changing screen and
began to disrobe.
"And the assault on the walls yesterday?" OreSeur asked.
"That was a warning," she said, continuing to unbutton her shirt. "Not a
serious attack." Though, apparently, it had really unsettled the Assembly.
Perhaps that had been the point. Clubs could say all he wished about
strategy and testing the walls, but from Vin's standpoint, the thing Straff had
gained most was even more fear and chaos inside Luthadel.
Only a few weeks of being besieged, and the city was already strained
near to breaking. Food was terribly expensive, and Elend had been forced to
open the city stockpiles. The people were on edge. Some few thought the
attack had been a victory for Luthadel, taking it as a good sign that the army
had been "repelled." Most, however, were simply even more scared than
they had been before.
But, again, Vin was left with a conundrum. How to react, facing such an
overpowering force? Cower, or try to continue with life? Straff had tested
the walls, true—but he had maintained the larger part of his army back and
in position, should Cett have tried to make an opportunistic attack at that
time. He'd wanted information, and he'd wanted to intimidate the city.
"I still don't know if this meeting is a good idea," OreSeur said. "The
attack aside, Straff is not a man to be trusted. Kelsier had me study all of the
major noblemen in the city when I was preparing to become Lord Renoux.
Straff is deceitful and harsh, even for a human."
Vin sighed, removing her trousers, then pulled on the dress's slip. It
wasn't as tight as some, and gave her a lot of room to move through the
thigh and legs. Good so far.
OreSeur's objection was logical. One of the first things she had learned
on the street was to avoid situations where it was difficult to flee. Her every
instinct rebelled at the idea of walking into Straff's camp.
Elend had made his decision, however. And, Vin understood that she
needed to support him. In fact, she was even coming to agree with the
move. Straff wanted to intimidate the entire city—but he really wasn't as
threatening as he thought. Not as long as he had to worry about Cett.
Vin had had enough of intimidation in her life. In a way, Straff's attack on
the walls left her feeling even more determined to manipulate him to their
own ends. Going into his camp seemed a bit crazy on first impression, but
the more she thought about it, the more she realized that it was the only way
they were going to get to Straff. He had to see them as weak, had to feel
that his bullying tactics had worked. That was the only way they would win.
That meant doing something she didn't like. It meant being surrounded,
entering the enemy's den. However, if Elend did manage to get out of the
camp safely, it would provide a large morale boost for the city. Beyond that,
it would make Ham and the rest of the crew more confident in Elend.
Nobody would even have questioned the idea of Kelsier entering an enemy
camp to negotiate; in fact, they probably would have expected him to come
back from the negotiations somehow having convinced Straff to surrender.
I just need to make sure he comes back out safely, Vin thought, pulling on
the dress. Straff can display all the muscle he wants—none of it will matter
if we're the ones directing his attacks.
She nodded to herself, smoothing her dress. Then she walked out from
behind the changing screen, studying herself in her mirror. Though the
dressmaker had obviously sewn it to retain a traditional form, it didn't have
a completely triangular bell shape, but instead fell a bit straighter down
along her thighs. It was cut open near the shoulders—though it h1ad tight
sleeves and open cuffs—and the waist bent with her and gave her a good
range of motion.
Vin stretched a bit, jumping, twisting. She was surprised at how light the
dress felt, and how well she moved in it. Of course, any skirt would hardly
be ideal for fighting—but this one would be an enormous improvement
over the bulky creations she had worn to the parties a year before.
"Well?" she asked, spinning.
OreSeur raised a canine eyebrow. "What?"
"What do you think?"
OreSeur cocked his head. "Why ask me?"
"Because I care what you think," Vin said.
"The dress is very nice, Mistress. Though, to be honest, I have always
found the garments to be a little ridiculous. All of that cloth and color, it
doesn't seem very practical."
"Yes, I know," Vin said, using a pair of sapphire barrettes to pin the sides
of her hair back a bit from her face. "But. . .well, I'd forgotten how much
fun these things could be to wear."
"I fail to see why that would be, Mistress."
"That's because you're a man."
"Actually, I'm a kandra."
"But you're a boy kandra."
"How do you know that?" OreSeur asked. "Gender is not easy to tell in
my people, since our forms are fluid."
Vin looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "I can tell." Then she turned back
to her jewelry cabinet. She didn't have much; though the crew had outfitted
her with a good sampling of jewelry during her days as Valette, she had
given most of it to Elend to help fund various projects. She had, however,
kept a few of her favorites—as if she'd known that she'd someday find her
way back into a dress.
I'm just wearing it this once, she thought. This still isn't me.
She snapped on a sapphire bracelet. Like her barrettes, it contained no
metal; the gemstones were set into a thick hardwood that closed with a
wooden twist-clasp. The only metal on her body, then, would be her coins,
her metal vial, and the single earring. Kept, by Kelsier's suggestion, as a bit
of metal she could Push on in an emergency.
"Mistress," OreSeur said, pulling something out from under her bed with
his paw. A sheet of paper. "This fell from the box as you were opening it."
He grabbed it between two of his surprisingly dexterous paw fingers and
held it up for her.
Vin accepted the paper. Lady Heir, it read.
I made the chest and bodice extra tight to give support—and
cut the skirts so they would resist flaring—in case you need
to jump. There are slits for metal vials in each of the cuffs, as
well as a ripple in the cloth cut to obscure a dagger strapped
around each forearm. I hope you find the alterations
suitable.
Feldeu, Dressmaker.
She glanced down, noting the cuffs. They were thick and wide, and the
way they pointed at the sides made perfect hiding places. Though the
sleeves were tight around the upper arms, the forearms were looser, and she
could see where the daggers could be strapped.
"It seems that he has made dresses for 1Mistborn before," OreSeur noted.
"Probably," Vin said. She moved over to her dressing mirror to apply a
little makeup, and found that several of her makeup pads had dried out.
Guess I haven't done this for a while either. . ..
"What time are we leaving, Mistress?" OreSeur asked.
Vin paused. "Actually, OreSeur, I wasn't planning to bring you. I still
intend to keep your cover with the other people in the palace, and I think it
would look very suspicious of me to bring my pet dog on this particular
trip."
OreSeur was silent for a moment. "Oh," he said. "Of course. Good luck,
then, Mistress."
Vin felt only a tiny stab of disappointment; she'd expected him to object
more. She pushed the emotion aside. Why should she fault him? He'd been
the one to rightly point out the dangers of going into the camp.
OreSeur simply lay down, resting head on paws as he watched her
continue applying her makeup.
"But, El," Ham said, "you should at least let us send you in our own
carriage."
Elend shook his head, straightening his jacket as he looked in the mirror.
"That would require sending in a coachman, Ham."
"Right," Ham said. "Who would be me."
"One man won't make a difference in getting us out of that camp. And,
the fewer people I take with me, the fewer people Vin and I have to worry
about."
Ham shook his head. "El, I. . ."
Elend laid a hand on Ham's shoulder. "I appreciate the concern, Ham.
But, I can do this. If there's one man in this world I can manipulate, it's my
father. I'll come out of this with him feeling assured that he has the city in
his pocket."
Ham sighed. "All right."
"Oh, one other thing," Elend said hesitantly.
"Yes?"
"Would you mind calling me 'Elend' instead of just 'El'?"
Ham chuckled. "I suppose that one's easy enough to do."
Elend smiled thankfully. It's not what Tindwyl wanted, but it's a start.
We'll worry about the "Your Majesty"s later.
The door opened, and Dockson walked in. "Elend," he said. "This just
arrived for you." He held up a sheet of paper.
"From the Assembly?" Elend asked.
Dockson nodded. "They're not happy about you missing the meeting this
evening."
"Well, I can't change the appointment with Straff just because they want
to meet a day early," Elend said. "Tell them I'll try and visit when I get
back."
Dockson nodded, then turned as a rustling sounded from behind him. He
stepped to the side, a strange look on his face, as Vin walked up to the
doorway.
And she was wearing a dress—a beautiful blue gown that was sleeker
than the common courtly fare. Her black hair sparkled with a pair of
sapphire barrettes, and she seemed. . .different. More feminine—or, rather,
more confident in her femininity.
How much she's changed since I first met her, Elend thought, smiling.
Almost two years had passed. Then she had been a youth, albeit one with
the life experiences of someone far older. Now she was a woman—a very
dangerous woman,1 but one who still looked up at him with eyes that were
just a bit uncertain, just a bit insecure.
"Beautiful," Elend whispered. She smiled.
"Vin!" Ham said, turning. "You're wearing a dress!"
Vin flushed. "What did you expect, Ham? That I would meet with the
king of the Northern Dominance in trousers?"
"Well. . ." Ham said. "Actually, yes."
Elend chuckled. "Just because you insist on going about everywhere in
casual clothing, Ham, doesn't mean that everyone does. Honestly, don't you
get tired of those vests?"
Ham shrugged. "They're easy. And simple."
"And cold," Vin said, rubbing her arms. "I'm glad I asked for something
with sleeves."
"Be thankful for the weather," Ham said. "Every chill you suffer will
seem far worse to the men out in those armies."
Elend nodded. Winter had, technically, started. The weather probably
wouldn't get bad enough to be more than a mild discomfort—they rarely got
snow in the Central Dominance—but the chill nights certainly wouldn't
improve morale.
"Well, let's go," Vin said. "The sooner we get this over with, the better."
Elend stepped forward, smiling, taking Vin's hands. "I appreciate this,
Vin," he said quietly. "And you really do look gorgeous. If we weren't
marching off to near certain doom, I'd be tempted to command a ball be
held tonight just for the opportunity to show you off."
Vin smiled. "Near certain doom is that compelling?"
"Guess I've been spending too much time with the crew." He leaned
down to kiss her, but she yelped and jumped back.
"It took me the better part of an hour to get this makeup on right," she
snapped. "No kissing!"
Elend chuckled as Captain Demoux poked his head in the door. "Your
Majesty, the carriage has arrived."
Elend looked at Vin. She nodded.
"Let's go," he said.
Sitting inside the carriage Straff had sent for them, Elend could see a
solemn group standing on the wall, watching them roll away. The sun was
near to setting.
He commands us to come in the evening; we'll have to leave when the
mists are out, Elend thought. A crafty way of pointing out how much power
he has over us.
It was his father's way—a move, in a way, that was similar to the attack
on the walls a day before. To Straff, everything was about posturing. Elend
had watched his father at court, and had seen him manipulate even
obligators. By holding the contract to oversee the Lord Ruler's atium mine,
Straff Venture had played a game even more dangerous than his fellow
noblemen. And he had played that game very well. He hadn't factored in
Kelsier throwing chaos into the mix, but who had?
Since the Collapse, Straff had secured the most stable, and most
powerful, kingdom in the Final Empire. He was a crafty, careful man who
knew how to plan for years to get what he wanted. And this was the man
Elend had to manipulate.
"You look worried," Vin said. She was across from him in the carriage,
sitting in a prim, ladylike posture. It was as if donning a dress somehow
granted her new habits and mannerisms. Or just a return to old ones—she'd
once been able to 1act like a noblewoman well enough to fool Elend.
"We'll be all right," she said. "Straff won't hurt you—even if things go
bad, he won't dare make a martyr of you."
"Oh, I'm not worried about my safety," Elend said.
Vin raised an eyebrow. "Because?"
"Because I have you," Elend said with a smile. "You're worth an army,
Vin."
This, however, didn't seem to console her.
"Come here," he said, scooting over and waving her to the seat beside
him.
She rose and moved across the carriage—but paused, eyeing him.
"Makeup."
"I'll be careful," Elend promised.
She nodded, sitting and letting him put an arm around her. "Be careful of
the hair, too," she said. "And your suit coat—don't get anything on it."
"When did you get so fashion-conscious?" he asked.
"It's the dress," Vin said with a sigh. "As soon as I put it on, all of Sazed's
lessons started coming back to me."
"I really do like the dress on you," Elend said.
Vin shook her head.
"What?" Elend asked as the carriage bumped, pushing her a bit closer to
him. Another new perfume, he thought. At least that's one habit she never
got out of.
"This isn't me, Elend," she said quietly. "This dress, these mannerisms.
They're a lie."
Elend sat quietly for a moment.
"No objections?" Vin said. "Everyone else thinks I'm speaking
nonsense."
"I don't know," Elend said honestly. "Changing into my new clothes
made me feel different, so what you say makes sense. If wearing dresses
feels wrong to you, then you don't have to wear them. I want you to be
happy, Vin."
Vin smiled, looking up at him. Then she leaned up and kissed him.
"I thought you said none of that," he said.
"From you," she said. "I'm Mistborn—we're more precise."
Elend smiled, though he couldn't quite feel jovial. Conversation,
however, did keep him from fretting. "I feel uncomfortable in these clothes,
sometimes. Everyone expects so much more from me when I wear them.
They expect a king."
"When I wear a dress," Vin said, "they expect a lady. Then they're
disappointed when they find me instead."
"Anyone who would feel disappointed to find you is too dense to be of
any relevance," Elend said. "I don't want you to be like them, Vin. They're
not honest. They don't care. I like you as you are."
"Tindwyl thinks that I can be both," Vin said. "A woman and a
Mistborn."
"Tindwyl is wise," Elend said. "A bit brutal, but wise. You should listen
to her."
"You just told me you liked me how I am."
"I do," Elend said. "But I'd like you however you were, Vin. I love you.
The question is, how do you like yourself?"
That gave her pause.
"Clothing doesn't really change a man," Elend said. "But it changes how
others react to him. 1Tindwyl's words. I think. . .I think the trick is
convincing yourself that you deserve the reactions you get. You can wear
the court's dresses, Vin, but make them your own. Don't worry that you
aren't giving people what they want. Give them who you are, and let that be
enough." He paused, smiling. "It was for me."
She smiled back, then carefully leaned against him. "All right," she said.
"Enough insecurity for the moment. Let's review. Tell me more about your
father's disposition."
"He's a perfect imperial nobleman. Ruthless, clever, and infatuated with
power. You remember my. . .experience when I was thirteen?"
Vin nodded.
"Well, Father was very fond of skaa brothels. I think that he liked how
strong he felt by taking a girl while knowing that she would be killed for his
passion. He keeps several dozen mistresses, and if they don't please him,
they get removed."
Vin muttered something quietly in response to this.
"He's the same way with political allies. One didn't ally with House
Venture—one agreed to be dominated by House Venture. If you weren't
willing to be our slave, then you didn't get to contract with us."
Vin nodded. "I've known crewleaders like that."
"And how did you survive when they turned an eye toward you?"
"By acting unimportant," Vin said. "By crawling on the ground when
they passed and by never giving them reason to challenge me. Exactly what
you're planning to do tonight."
Elend nodded.
"Be careful," Vin said. "Don't let Straff think that you're mocking him."
"All right."
"And don't promise too much," Vin said. "Act like you're trying to seem
tough. Let him think he's bullying you into doing what he wants—he'll
enjoy that."
"You've had experience with this before, I see."
"Too much of it," Vin said. "But, you've heard this before."
Elend nodded. They'd planned and replanned this meeting. Now he
simply had to do what the crew had taught him. Make Straff think we're
weak, imply we'll give him the city—but only if he helps us against Cett
first.
Outside the window, Elend could see that they were approaching Straff's
army. So big! he thought. Where did Father learn to administrate a force
like this?
Elend had hoped, perhaps, that his father's lack of military experience
would translate to a poorly run army. Yet, the tents were arranged in a
careful pattern, and the soldiers wore neat uniforms. Vin moved over to her
window, looking out with avid eyes, showing far more interest than an
imperial noblewoman would have dared. "Look," she said, pointing.
"What?" Elend asked, leaning over.
"Obligator," Vin said.
Elend looked over her shoulder, spotting the former imperial priest—the
skin around his eyes tattooed in a wide pattern—directing a line of soldiers
outside a tent. "So that's it. He's using obligators to administrate."
Vin shrugged. "It makes sense. They'd know how to manage large groups
of people."
"And how to supply them," Elend said. "Yes, it's a good idea—but it's
still surprising. It implies that he 1still needs obligators—and that he's still
subject to the Lord Ruler's authority. Most of the other kings threw off the
obligators as soon as they could."
Vin frowned. "I thought you said your father likes being in power."
"He does," Elend said. "But also likes powerful tools. He always keeps a
kandra, and he has a history of associating with dangerous Allomancers. He
believes that he can control them—and he probably believes the same thing
about the obligators."
The carriage slowed, then stopped beside a large tent. Straff Venture
emerged a moment later.
Elend's father had always been a large man, firm of figure with a
commanding posture. The new beard only heightened the effect. He wore a
sharp, well-cut suit, just like the suits he had tried to get Elend to wear as a
boy. That was when Elend had begun wearing his clothing disheveled—the
buttons undone, the jackets too large. Anything to separate him from his
father.
Elend's defiance had never been meaningful, however. He had annoyed
Straff, pulling small stunts and acting foolish when he knew he could get
away with it. None of it had mattered.
Not until that final night. Luthadel in flames, the skaa rebellion running
out of control, threatening to bring down the entire city. A night of chaos
and destruction, with Vin trapped somewhere within it.
Then Elend had stood up to Straff Venture.
I'm not the same boy you pushed around, Father. Vin squeezed his arm,
and Elend climbed out of the carriage as the coachman opened the door.
Straff waited quietly, a strange look on his face as Elend raised a hand to
help Vin down.
"You came," Straff said.
"You seem surprised, Father."
Straff shook his head. "I see that you're just as big an idiot as ever, boy.
You're in my power now—I could have you killed with a bare wave of my
hand." He raised his arm, as if to do just that.
Now's the moment, Elend thought, heart thumping. "I've always been in
your power, Father," he said. "You could have had me killed months ago,
could have taken my city away at a bare whim. I don't see how my coming
here changes anything."
Straff hesitated.
"We came for dinner," Elend said. "I had hoped to give you a chance to
meet Vin, and had hoped that we might discuss certain. . .issues of
particular import to you."
Straff frowned.
That's right, Elend thought. Wonder if I have some offer yet to make. You
know that the first man to play his hand usually loses.
Straff wouldn't pass up an opportunity for gain—even a slim opportunity,
like the one Elend represented. He probably figured there was nothing
Elend could say that was of real importance. But could he be sure? What
did he have to lose?
"Go and confirm with my chef that there will be three for dinner," Straff
said to a servant.
Elend let out a lightly held breath.
"That girl's your Mistborn, then?" Straff asked.
Elend nodded.
"Cute little thing," Straff said. "Tell her to stop Soothing my emotions."
Vin flushed.
Straff nodded toward the tent. Elend led Vin forward, though she glanced
over her shoulder, obviously not liking the idea of exposing her back to
Straff.
Little bit late for that. . .Elend thought.
The tent chamber was what Elend would have expected of his father:
stuffed with pillows and rich furniture, very little of which Straff would
actually use. Straff furnished to suggest his power. Like the massive keeps
of Luthadel, a nobleman's surroundings were an expression of how
important he was.
Vin waited quietly, tensely, at Elend's side in the center of the room.
"He's good," she whispered. "I was as subtle as I can manage, and he still
noticed my touch."
Elend nodded. "He's also a Tineye," he said in a normal voice. "So he's
probably listening to us right now."
Elend looked toward the door. Straff walked in a few moments later,
giving no indication as to whether he had heard Vin or not. A group of
servants entered a few moments later, carrying a large dining table.
Vin inhaled sharply. The servants were skaa—imperial skaa, after the old
tradition. They were ragged, their clothing made of torn smocks, and
showed bruises from a recent beating. They carried their loads with lowered
eyes.
"Why the reaction, girl?" Straff asked. "Oh, that's right. You're skaa,
aren't you—pretty dress notwithstanding? Elend is very kind; I wouldn't let
you wear something like that." Or much at all, his tone implied.
Vin shot Straff a look, but pulled a little closer to Elend, grabbing his
arm. Again, Straff's words were only about posturing; Straff was cruel, but
only insofar as it served him. He wanted to make Vin uncomfortable.
Which he seemed to be doing. Elend frowned, glancing down, and
caught just a hint of a sly smile on her lips.
Breeze has told me that Vin is more subtle with her Allomancy than most
Soothers, he recalled. Father's good, but for him to pick out her touch. . .
She let him, of course.
Elend looked back at Straff, who hit one of the skaa servants on their way
out. "I hope none of them are relatives of yours," Straff said to Vin. "They
haven't been very diligent lately. I might have to execute a few."
"I'm not skaa anymore," Vin said quietly. "I'm a noblewoman."
Straff just laughed. He had already dismissed Vin as a threat. He knew
she was Mistborn, he must have heard that she was dangerous, and yet he
now assumed that she was weak and inconsequential.
She is good at this, Elend thought with wonder. Servants began to bring
in a feast that was impressive considering the circumstances. As they
waited, Straff turned to an aide. "Send in Hoselle," he ordered. "And tell her
to be quick."
He seems less reserved than I remember, Elend thought. In the Lord
Emperor's day, a good nobleman had been stiff and inhibited when in
public, though many had turned to extravagant indulgence when in private.
They would dance and have quiet dinner conversation at the ball, for
instance, but enjoy whores and drunkenness in the small hours of night.
"Why the beard, Father?" Elend asked. "Last I knew, those weren't in
fashion."
"I set the fashion now, boy," Straff said. "Sit." Vin waited respectfully,
Elend noticed, until Elend was seated before taking her1 place. She
managed to maintain an air of half jumpiness: she'd look Straff in the eyes,
but always gave a reflexive twitch, as if part of her wanted to glance away.
"Now," Straff said, "tell me why you're here."
"I thought it was obvious, Father," Elend said. "I'm here to discuss our
alliance."
Straff raised an eyebrow. "Alliance? We both just agreed that your life is
mine. I don't see a need to ally with you."
"Perhaps," Elend said. "But, there are other factors at play here. I assume
that you weren't expecting Cett's arrival?"
"Cett is of little concern," Straff said, turning his attention to the meal:
big slabs of barely cooked beef. Vin wrinkled her nose, though Elend
couldn't tell if that was part of her act or not.
Elend cut his steak. "A man with an army nearly as large as your own is
hardly of 'little' concern, Father."
Straff shrugged. "He'll be of no trouble to me once I have the city walls.
You'll turn those over to me as part of our alliance, I assume?"
"And invite Cett to attack the city?" Elend said. "Yes, together you and I
could hold against him, but why go on the defensive? Why let him weaken
our fortifications, and possibly just continue this siege until both of our
armies are starving? We need to attack him, Father."
Straff snorted. "You think I need your help to do so?"
"You do if you want to beat him with any measure of assured success,"
Elend said. "We can take him easily together—but never alone. We need
each other. Let's attack, you leading your armies, me leading mine."
"Why are you so eager?" Straff asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Because I want to prove something," Elend said. "Look, we both know
you're going to take Luthadel from me. But, if we ride together against Cett
first, it will look like I wanted to ally with you all along. I'll be able to give
you the city without looking like a complete buffoon. I can spin it that I
brought in my father to help us against the army I knew was coming. I turn
the city over to you, and then become your heir again. We both get what we
want. But only once Cett is dead."
Straff paused, and Elend could see that his words were having an effect.
Yes, he thought. Think that I'm just the same boy you left behind—eccentric,
eager to resist you for silly reasons. And, saving face is a very Venture thing
to do.
"No," Straff said.
Elend started.
"No," Straff said again, turning to his meal. "That's not how we're going
to do this, boy. I'll decide when—or even if—I attack Cett."
That should have worked! Elend thought. He studied Straff, trying to
judge what was wrong. There was a faint hesitance about his father.
I need more information, he thought. He glanced to his side, to where Vin
sat, spinning something lightly in her hand. Her fork. She met his eyes, then
tapped it lightly.
Metal, Elend thought. Good idea. He looked over at Straff. "You came
for the atium," he said. "You don't have to conquer my city to get it."
Straff leaned forward. "Why haven't you spent it?"
"Nothing brings sharks faster than fresh blood, Father," 1Elend said.
"Spending large amounts of atium would only have indicated for certain
that I had it—a bad idea, considering the trouble we took to squelch those
rumors."
There was a sudden motion at the front of the tent, and soon a flustered
young girl entered. She wore a ball gown—red—and had her black hair
pulled back into a long, flowing tail. She was, perhaps, fifteen.
"Hoselle," Straff said, pointing to the chair next to him.
The girl nodded obediently, scurrying forward to sit beside Straff. She
was done up in makeup, and the dress was low-cut. Elend had little doubt as
to her relationship with Straff.
Straff smiled and chewed his food, calm and gentlemanly. The girl
looked a little bit like Vin—same almond face, similar dark hair, same fine
features and thin build. It was a statement. I can get one just like yours—
only younger and prettier. More posturing.
It was that moment—that smirk in Straff's eyes—which reminded Elend
more than ever why he hated his father.
"Perhaps we can make a deal, boy," Straff said. "Deliver the atium to me,
and I'll deal with Cett."
"Getting it to you will take time," Elend said.
"Why?" Straff asked. "Atium is light."
"There's a lot of it."
"Not so much you couldn't pack it on a cart and send it out," Straff said.
"It's more complicated than that," Elend said.
"I don't think it is," Straff said, smiling. "You just don't want to give it to
me."
Elend frowned.
"We don't have it," Vin whispered.
Straff turned.
"We never found it," she said. "Kelsier overthrew the Lord Ruler just so
he could get that atium. But we never could find out where the metal was. It
probably wasn't ever in the city."
Wasn't expecting that. . .Elend thought. Of course, Vin tended to do
things by instinct, much as Kelsier was said to have done. All the planning
in the world could go out the window with Vin around—but what she did
instead was usually better.
Straff sat for a moment. He seemed to believe Vin. "So you really have
nothing at all to offer me."
I need to act weak, Elend remembered. Need him to think he can take the
city any time, but also think it isn't worth taking right now. He began to tap
the table quietly with his index finger, trying to look nervous. If Straff
thinks we don't have the atium. . .then he'll be a lot less likely to risk
attacking the city. Less gain. That's why Vin said what she did.
"Vin doesn't know what she's talking about," Elend said. "I've kept the
atium hidden, even from her. I'm sure we can arrange something, Father."
"No," Straff said, now sounding amused. "You really don't have it. Zane
said. . .but, well, I didn't believe. . ."
Straff shook his head, turning back toward his meal. The girl at his side
didn't eat; she sat quietly, like the ornament she was expected to be. Straff
took a long drink of his wine, then let out a satisfied sigh. He looked at his
child mistress. "Leave us," he said.
She immediately did as commanded.
"You, too," Straff said to Vin.
Vin stiffened slightly. She looked toward Elend.
"It's all right," he said slowly.
She paused, then nodded. Straff himself was little danger to Elend, and
she was a Mistborn. If something went wrong, she could get to Elend
quickly. And, if she left, it would do what they wanted—make Elend look
less powerful. In a better position to deal with Straff.
Hopefully.
"I'll wait just outside," Vin said quietly, withdrawing.
He was no simple soldier. He was a force of leadership—a man that fate
itself seemed to support.
27
"ALL RIGHT," STRAFF SAID, setting down his fork. "Let's be honest,
boy. I'm this close to simply having you killed."
"You'd execute your only son?" Elend asked.
Straff shrugged.
"You need me," Elend said. "To help you fight Cett. You can kill me, but
you'd gain nothing. You'd still have to take Luthadel by force, and Cett
would still be able to attack—and defeat you—in your weakened state."
Straff smiled, folding his arms, leaning forward so he loomed over the
table. "You are wrong on both counts, boy. First, I think that if I killed you,
the next leader of Luthadel would be more accommodating. I have certain
interests in the city who indicate that is true. Second, I don't need your help
to fight Cett. He and I already have a treaty."
Elend paused. "What?"
"What do you think I've been doing these last few weeks? Sitting and
waiting on your whims? Cett and I have exchanged pleasantries. He's not
interested in the city—he just wants the atium. We agreed to split what we
discover in Luthadel, then work together to take the rest of the Final
Empire. He conquers to the west and north, I head east and south. Very
accommodating man, Cett."
He's bluffing, Elend thought with reasonable certainty. That wasn't
Straff's way; he wouldn't make an alliance with someone so near to him in
strength. Straff feared betrayal too much.
"You think I would believe that?" Elend said.
"Believe what you wish," Straff said.
"And the koloss army marching this way?" Elend asked, playing one of
their trump cards.
This made Straff pause.
"If you want to take Luthadel before those koloss get here, Father," Elend
said, "then I think you might want to be a little more accommodating
toward the man who's come, offering you everything you want. I only ask
one thing—let me have a victory. Let me fight Cett, secure my legacy. Then
you can have the city."
Straff thought about it, thought about it long enough that Elend dared to
hope he might just have won. Then, however, Straff shook his head. "No, I
think not. I'll take my chances with Cett. I don't know why he is willing to
let me have Luthadel, but he doesn't seem to care much about it."
"And you do?" Elend said. "You know we don't have the atium. What
does the city matter to you now?"
Straff leaned forward a bit farther. Elend could smell his breath, odorous
from the dinner spices1. "That's where you are wrong about me, boy. That's
why—even if you'd been able to promise me that atium—you would never
have left this camp tonight. I made a mistake a year ago. If I'd stayed in
Luthadel, I would have been the one on that throne. Instead, it was you. I
can't imagine why—I guess a weak Venture was still better than the other
alternatives."
Straff was everything Elend had hated about the old empire.
Presumptuous. Cruel. Arrogant.
Weakness, Elend thought, calming himself. I can't be threatening. He
shrugged. "It's only a city, Father. From my position, it doesn't matter half
as much as your army."
"It's more than a city," Straff said. "It's the Lord Ruler's city—and it has
my home in it. My keep. I understand that you're using it as your palace."
"I didn't really have any other place to go."
Straff turned back to his meal. "All right," he said in between cutting
chunks of steak, "at first, I thought you were an idiot for coming tonight,
but now I'm not so certain. You must have seen the inevitable."
"You're stronger," Elend said. "I can't stand up to you."
Straff nodded. "You've impressed me, boy. Wearing proper clothing,
getting yourself a Mistborn mistress, maintaining control of the city. I'm
going to let you live."
"Thank you," Elend said.
"And, in exchange, you're going to give me Luthadel."
"As soon as Cett is dealt with."
Straff laughed. "No, that's not the way these things work, boy. We're not
negotiating. You're listening to my orders. Tomorrow, we'll ride to the city
together, and you'll order the gates opened. I'll march my army in and take
command, and Luthadel will become the new capital of my kingdom. If you
stay in line and do as I say, I'll name you heir again."
"We can't do that," Elend said. "I left orders that the gates weren't to be
opened to you, no matter what."
Straff paused.
"My advisors thought you might try and use Vin as a hostage, forcing me
to relinquish the city," Elend said. "If we go together, they'll assume you're
threatening me."
Straff's mood darkened. "You'd better hope that they don't."
"They will," Elend said. "I know these men, Father. They'd be eager for
an excuse to take the city away from me."
"Then, why come here?"
"To do as I said," Elend said. "To negotiate an alliance against Cett. I can
deliver Luthadel to you—but I still need time. Let's take down Cett first."
Straff grabbed his dinner knife by the hilt and slammed it down into the
table. "I said this wasn't a negotiation! You don't make demands, boy. I
could have you killed!"
"I'm just stating facts, Father," Elend said quickly. "I don't want to—"
"You've gotten smooth," Straff said, eyes narrowing. "What did you hope
to accomplish with this game? Coming to my camp? Bringing nothing to
offer. . ." He paused, then continued. "Nothing to offer except for that girl.
Pretty little thing, she is."
Elend flushed. "That won't get you into the city. Remember, my advisors
thought you might try threatening her."
"Fine," Straff snapp1ed. "You die; I take the city by force."
"And Cett attacks you from behind," Elend said. "Pinning you against our
wall and forcing you to fight surrounded."
"He'd take heavy losses," Straff said. "He wouldn't be able to take and
hold the city after that."
"Even with diminished forces, he'd have a better chance of taking it from
us than he would if he waited and then tried to take it from you."
Straff stood. "I'll have to take that chance. I left you behind before. I'm
not going to let you loose again, boy. Those cursed skaa were supposed to
kill you and leave me free of you."
Elend stood as well. However, he could see the resolve in Straff's eyes.
It isn't working, Elend thought, panic beginning to set in. This plan had
been a gamble, but he hadn't ever really thought that he'd fail. Indeed, he'd
played his cards well. But, something was wrong—something he hadn't
anticipated, and still didn't understand. Why was Straff resisting so much?
I'm too new to this, Elend thought. Ironically, if he had let his father train
him better as a child, he might have known what he'd done wrong. As it
was, he suddenly realized the gravity of his situation. Surrounded by a
hostile army. Separated from Vin.
He was going to die.
"Wait!" Elend said desperately.
"Ah," Straff said smiling. "Finally realized what you've gotten yourself
into?" There was pleasure in Straff's smile. Eagerness. There had always
been something inside Straff that had enjoyed hurting others, though Elend
had rarely seen it applied to him. Propriety had always been there to stop
Straff.
Propriety enforced by the Lord Ruler. At that moment, Elend saw murder
in his father's eyes.
"You never intended to let me live," Elend said. "Even if I'd given you
the atium, even if I'd gone with you to the city."
"You were dead the moment I decided to march here," Straff said. "Idiot
boy. I do thank you for bringing me that girl, though. I'll take her tonight.
We'll see if she cries my name or yours while I'm—"
Elend laughed.
It was a desperate laugh, a laugh at the ridiculous situation he'd gotten
himself into, a laugh at his sudden worry and fear—but most of all, it was a
laugh at the idea of Straff trying to force himself upon Vin. "You have no
idea how foolish you sound," Elend said.
Straff flushed. "For that, boy, I'll be extra rough with her."
"You are a pig, Father," Elend said. "A sick, disgusting man. You thought
you were a brilliant leader, but you were barely competent. You nearly got
our house destroyed—only the Lord Ruler's own death saved you!"
Straff called for his guards.
"You may take Luthadel," Elend said, "but you'll lose it! I may have been
a bad king, but you'll be a terrible one. The Lord Ruler was a tyrant, but he
was also a genius. You're neither. You're just a selfish man who'll use up his
resources, then end up dead from a knife in the back."
Straff pointed at Elend as soldiers rushed in. Elend didn't cringe. He'd
grown up with this man, been raised by him, been tortured by him. And,
despite it all, Elend had never spoken his mind. He'd rebelled with the petty
timidity of a teenage boy, but he'd never spoken the tr1uth.
It felt good. It felt right.
Perhaps playing the weak hand was a mistake against Straff. He always
was fond of crushing things.
And suddenly Elend knew what he had to do. He smiled, looking Straff
in the eyes.
"Kill me, Father," he said, "and you'll die, too."
"Kill me, Father," Elend said, "and you'll die, too."
Vin paused. She stood outside the tent, in the darkness of early night.
She'd been standing with Straff's soldiers, but they'd rushed in at his
command. She'd moved into the darkness, and now stood on the north side
of the tent, watching the shadowed forms move within.
She'd been about to burst in. Elend hadn't been doing very well—not that
he was a bad negotiator. He was just too honest by nature. It wasn't difficult
to tell when he was bluffing, especially if you knew him well.
But, this new proclamation was different. It wasn't a sign of Elend
attempting to be clever, nor was it an angry outburst like the one he'd made
moments before. Suddenly, he seemed calm and forceful.
Vin waited quietly, her daggers out, tense in the mists before the glowing
tent. Something told her she had to give Elend just a few more moments.
Straff laughed at Elend's threat.
"You are a fool, Father," Elend said. "You think I came here to negotiate?
You think I would willingly deal with one such as you? No. You know me
better than that. You know that I'd never submit to you."
"Then why?" Straff asked.
She could almost hear Elend's smile. "I came to get near you, Father. .
.and to bring my Mistborn to the very heart of your camp."
Silence.
Finally, Straff laughed. "You threaten me with that wisp of a girl? If that's
the great Mistborn of Luthadel I've been hearing of, then I'm sorely
disappointed."
"That's because she wants you to feel that way," Elend said. "Think,
Father. You were suspicious, and the girl confirmed those suspicions. But, if
she's as good as the rumors say—and I know you've heard the rumors—
then how would you have spotted her touch on your emotions?
"You caught her Soothing you, and you called her on it. Then, you didn't
feel the touch anymore, so you assumed that she was cowed. But, after that,
you began to feel confident. Comfortable. You dismissed Vin as a threat—
but would any rational man dismiss a Mistborn, no matter how small or
quiet? In fact, you'd think that the small, quiet ones would be the assassins
you'd want to pay the most attention to."
Vin smiled. Clever, she thought. She reached out, Rioting Straff's
emotions, flaring her metal and stoking his sense of anger. He gasped in
sudden shock. Take the clue, Elend.
"Fear," Elend said.
She Soothed away Straff's anger and exchanged it for fear.
"Passion."
She complied.
"Calmness."
She soothed everything away. Inside the tent, she saw Straff's shadow
standing stiffly. An Allomancer couldn't force a person to do anything—and
usually, strong Pushes or Pulls on an emotion were less effective, since they
alerted 1the target that something was wrong. In this case, however, Vin
wanted Straff to know for certain she was watching.
She smiled, extinguishing her tin. Then she burned duralumin and
Soothed Straff's emotions with explosive pressure, wiping away all capacity
for feeling within him. His shadow stumbled beneath the attack.
Her brass was gone a moment later, and she turned on her tin again,
watching the black patterns on the canvas.
"She's powerful, Father," Elend said. "She's more powerful than any
Allomancer you've known. She killed the Lord Ruler. She was trained by
the Survivor of Hathsin. And if you kill me, she'll kill you."
Straff righted himself, and the tent fell silent again.
A footstep sounded. Vin spun, ducking, raising her dagger.
A familiar figure stood in the night mists. "Why is it I can never sneak up
on you?" Zane asked quietly.
Vin shrugged and turned back to the tent—but moved herself so she
could keep an eye on Zane, too. He walked over and crouched beside her,
watching the shadows.
"That's hardly a useful threat," Straff finally said from within. "You'll be
dead, even if your Mistborn does get to me."
"Ah, Father," Elend said. "I was wrong about your interest in Luthadel.
However, you're also wrong about me—you've always been wrong about
me. I don't care if I die, not if it brings safety to my people."
"Cett will take the city if I'm gone," Straff said.
"I think my people might be able to hold against him," Elend said. "After
all, he has the smaller army."
"This is idiocy!" Straff snapped. He didn't, however, order his soldiers
forward any farther.
"Kill me, and you die, too," Elend said. "And not just you. Your generals.
Your captains. Even your obligators. She has orders to slaughter you all."
Zane took a step closer to Vin, his feet crunching slightly on the packeddown weeds that made up the floor of the camp. "Ah," he whispered,
"clever. No matter how strong your opponent is, he can't attack if you've got
a knife at his throat."
Zane leaned even closer, and Vin looked up at him, their faces just inches
from each other. He shook his head in the soft mists. "But tell me—why is
it that people like you and me always have to be the knives?"
Inside the tent, Straff was growing concerned. "No one is that powerful,
boy," he said, "not even a Mistborn. She might be able to kill some of my
generals, but she'd never get to me. I have my own Mistborn."
"Oh?" Elend said. "And why hasn't he killed her? Because he's afraid to
attack? If you kill me, Father—if you even make so much as a move toward
my city—then she'll begin the slaughter. Men will die like prisoners before
the fountains on a day of execution."
"I thought you said he was above this kind of thing," Zane whispered.
"You claimed you weren't his tool. You said he wouldn't use you as an
assassin. . .."
Vin shuffled uncomfortably. "He's bluffing, Zane," she said. "He'd never
actually do anything like that."
"She is an Allomancer like you've never seen, Father," Elend said, voice
muffled by the tent. "I've seen her fight other Allomancers—none of them
can even touch her."
"Is that true?" Zane asked.
Vin paused. Elend hadn't actually ever seen her attack other Allomancers.
"He saw me attack some soldiers once, and I've told him about my fights
with other Allomancers."
"Ah," Zane said softly. "So it's only a small lie, then. Those are fine when
one is king. Many things are. Exploiting one person to save an entire
kingdom? What leader wouldn't pay such a cheap price? Your freedom in
exchange for his victory."
"He's not using me," Vin said.
Zane stood. Vin turned slightly, watching carefully as he walked into the
mists, away from tents, torches, and soldiers. He paused, standing a short
distance away, looking up. Even with the light of tent and fires, this camp
was claimed by the mists. It spun all around them. From within it, the
torchlight and campfires seemed insignificant. Like dying coals.
"What is this to him," Zane said quietly, sweeping a hand around him.
"Can he ever understand the mists? Can he ever understand you?"
"He loves me," Vin said, glancing back at the shadowed forms. They had
fallen quiet for a moment, Straff obviously considering Elend's threats.
"He loves you?" Zane asked. "Or he loves having you?"
"Elend isn't like that," Vin said. "He's a good man."
"Good or not, you aren't like him," Zane said, voice echoing in the night
to her tin-enhanced ears. "Can he understand what it is like to be one of us?
Can he know the things we know, care about the things we love? Has he
ever seen those?" Zane gestured upward, toward the sky. Far beyond the
mists, lights shone in the sky, like tiny freckles. Stars, invisible to the
normal eye. Only a person burning tin could penetrate the mists and see
them shining.
She remembered the first time Kelsier had shown them to her. She
remembered how stunned she had been that the stars had been there all
along, invisible beyond the mists. . ..
Zane continued to point upward. "Lord Ruler!" Vin whispered, taking a
small step away from the tent. Through the swirling mists, in the reflected
light of the tent, she could see something on Zane's arm.
The skin was covered with thin white streaks. Scars.
Zane immediately lowered his arm, hiding the scarred flesh with his
sleeve.
"You were in the Pits of Hathsin," Vin said quietly. "Like Kelsier."
Zane looked away.
"I'm sorry," Vin said.
Zane turned back, smiling in the night. It was a firm, confident smile. He
stepped forward. "I understand you, Vin."
Then he bowed slightly to her and jumped away, disappearing into the
mists. Inside the room, Straff spoke to Elend.
"Go. Leave here."
The carriage rolled away. Straff stood outside his tent, heedless of the
mists, still feeling a bit stunned.
I let him go. Why did I let him go?
Yet—even now—he could feel her touch slamming against him. One
emotion after another, like a treasonous maelstrom within him, and then. .
.nothing. Like a massive hand, grabbing his soul and squeezing it into
painful submission. It had felt the way he thought death might.
No Allomancer could be that powerful.
Zane respects her, Straff thought. And everyone says she killed the Lord
Ruler. That little thing. It couldn't be.
It seemed impossible. And apparently, that was just the way she wanted it
to seem.
Everything had been going so well. The information provided by Zane's
kandra spy had been accurate: Elend did try to make an alliance. The
frightening thing about it was that Straff might have gone along with it,
assuming Elend to be of no consequence, if the spy hadn't sent warning.
Even so, Elend had bested him. Straff had even been prepared for their
feint of weakness, and he had still fallen.
She's so powerful. . ..
A figure in black stepped out of the mists and walked up to Straff. "You
look like you've seen a ghost, Father," Zane said with a smile. "Your own,
perhaps?"
"Was there anyone else out there, Zane?" Straff asked, too shaken for
repartee at the moment. "Another couple of Mistborn, perhaps, helping
her?"
Zane shook his head. "No. She really is that strong." He turned to walk
back out into the mists.
"Zane!" Straff snapped, making the man pause. "We're going to change
plans. I want you to kill her."
Zane turned. "But—"
"She's too dangerous. Plus, we now have the information we wanted to
get from her. They don't have the atium."
"You believe them?" Zane asked.
Straff paused. After how thoroughly he'd been manipulated this evening,
he wasn't going to trust anything he thought he'd learned. "No," he decided.
"But we'll find it another way. I want that girl dead, Zane."
"Are we attacking the city for real, then?"
Straff almost gave the order right then, commanding his armies to
prepare for a morning assault. The preliminary attack had gone well,
showing that the defenses were hardly impressive. Straff could take that
wall, then use it against Cett.
However, Elend's final words before departing this evening made him
stop. Send your armies against my city, Father, the boy had said, and die.
You've felt her power—you know what she can do. You can try and hide, you
can even conquer my city.
But she will find you. And she will kill you.
Your only option is to wait. I'll contact you when my armies are prepared
to attack Cett. We'll strike together, as I said earlier.
Straff couldn't depend on that. The boy had changed—had become
strong, somehow. If Straff and Elend attacked together, Straff had no
illusions as to how quickly he'd be betrayed. But Straff couldn't attack
Luthadel while that girl was alive. Not knowing her strength, having felt her
touch on his emotions.
"No," he finally said to Zane's question. "We won't attack. Not until you
kill her."
"That might be harder than you make it sound, Father," Zane said. "I'll
need some help."
"What kind of help?"
"A strike team. Allomancers that can't be traced."
Zane was speaking of a particular group. Most Allomancers were easy to
identify because of their 1noble lineages. Straff, however, had access to
some special resources. There was a reason that he had so many mistresses
—dozens and dozens of them. Some thought it was just because he was
lustful.
That wasn't it at all. More mistresses meant more children. And more
children, born from a high noble line like his, meant more Allomancers.
He'd only spawned one Mistborn, but there were many Mistings.
"It will be done," Straff said.
"They might not survive the encounter, Father," Zane warned, still
standing in the mists.
That awful sensation returned. The sense of nothingness, the horrible
knowledge that someone else had complete and total control over his
emotions. Nobody should have that much power over him. Especially not
Elend.
He should be dead. He came right to me. And I let him go.
"Get rid of her," Straff said. "Do anything you need to, Zane. Anything."
Zane nodded, then walked away with a self-satisfied stroll.
Straff returned to his tent and sent for Hoselle again. She looked enough
like Elend's girl. It would do him good to remind himself that most of the
time, he really was in control.
Elend sat back in the carriage, a little stunned. I'm still alive! he thought
with growing excitement. I did it! I convinced Straff to leave the city alone.
For a time, at least. Luthadel's safety depended on Straff remaining
frightened of Vin. But. . .well, any victory was an enormous one for Elend.
He hadn't failed his people. He was their king, and his plan—crazy though
it might have seemed—had worked. The small crown on his head suddenly
didn't seem as heavy as it had before.
Vin sat across from him. She didn't look nearly as pleased as she could
have.
"We did it, Vin!" Elend said. "It wasn't what we planned, but it worked.
Straff won't dare attack the city now."
She nodded quietly.
Elend frowned. "Um, it's because of you that the city will be safe. You
know that, right? If you hadn't been there. . .well, of course, if it hadn't been
for you, the entire Final Empire would still be enslaved."
"Because I killed the Lord Ruler," she said quietly.
Elend nodded.
"But it was Kelsier's plan—the crew's skills, the people's strength of will
—that freed the empire. I just held the knife."
"You make it sound like a trivial thing, Vin," he said. "It's not! You're a
fantastic Allomancer. Ham says he can't beat you even in an unfair fight
anymore, and you've kept the palace free of assassins. There's nobody like
you in all of the Final Empire!"
Strangely, his words made her huddle into the corner just a little farther.
She turned, watching out the window, eyes staring into the mists. "Thank
you," she said softly.
Elend wrinkled his brow. Every time I begin to think I've figured out
what's going on in her head. . .He moved over, putting an arm around her.
"Vin, what's wrong?"
She was silent, then finally shook her head, forcing a smile. "It's nothing,
Elend. You're right to be excited. You were brilliant in there—I doubt even
Kelsier could have manipulated Straff so neatly."
Elend smiled, and pulled her close, impatient as the carriage rolled up to
the dark city. The doors of Tin Gate opened hesitantly, and Elend saw a
group of men standing just inside of the courtyard. Ham held aloft a lantern
in the mists.
Elend didn't wait for the carriage to stop on its own. He opened the door
and hopped down as it was rolling to a halt. His friends began to smile
eagerly. The gates thumped closed.
"It worked?" Ham asked hesitantly as Elend approached. "You did it?"
"Kind of," Elend said with a smile, clasping hands with Ham, Breeze,
Dockson, and finally Spook. Even the kandra, OreSeur, was there. He
padded over to the carriage, waiting for Vin. "The initial feint didn't go so
well—my father didn't bite on an alliance. But then I told him I'd kill him!"
"Wait. How was that a good idea?" Ham asked.
"We overlooked one of our greatest resources, my friends," Elend said as
Vin climbed down from the carriage. Elend turned, waving his hand toward
her. "We have a weapon like nothing they can match! Straff expected me to
come begging, and he was ready to control that situation. However, when I
mentioned what would happen to him and his army if Vin's anger was
roused. . ."
"My dear man," Breeze said. "You went into the camp of the strongest
king in the Final Empire, and you threatened him?"
"Yes I did!"
"Brilliant!"
"I know!" Elend said. "I told my Father that he was going to let me leave
his camp and that he was going to leave Luthadel alone, otherwise I'd have
Vin kill him and every general in his army." He put his arm around Vin. She
smiled at the group, but he could tell that something was still troubling her.
She doesn't think I did a good job, Elend realized. She saw a better way
to manipulate Straff, but she doesn't want to spoil my enthusiasm.
"Well, guess we won't need a new king," Spook said with a smile. "I was
kind of looking forward to taking the job. . .."
Elend laughed. "I don't intend to vacate the position for quite some time
yet. We'll let the people know that Straff has been cowed, if temporarily.
That should boost morale a bit. Then, we deal with the Assembly.
Hopefully, they'll pass a resolution to wait for me to meet with Cett like I
just did with Straff."
"Shall we have a celebration back at the palace?" Breeze asked. "As fond
as I am of the mists, I doubt the courtyard is an appropriate place to be
discussing these issues."
Elend patted him on the back and nodded. Ham and Dockson joined him
and Vin, while the others took the carriage they'd come in. Elend glanced
oddly at Dockson as he climbed into the carriage. Ordinarily, the man
would have chosen the other vehicle—the one Elend wasn't in.
"Honestly, Elend," Ham said as he settled into his seat. "I'm impressed. I
half thought we were going to have to raid that camp to get you back."
Elend smiled, eyeing Dockson, who sat down as the carriage began
moving. He pulled open his satchel and took out a sealed envelope. He
looked up and met Elend's eyes. "This came from the Assembly members
for you a short time ago, Your Majesty."
Elend paused. Then he took it and broke the seal. "What is it?"
"I'm not sure," Dockson said. "But. . .I've already started hearing
rumors."
Vin leaned in, reading over Elend's arm as he scanned the sheet inside.
Your Majesty, it read.
This note is to inform you that by majority vote, the
Assembly has decided to invoke the charter's no-confidence
clause. We appreciate your efforts on behalf of the city, but
the current situation calls for a different kind of leadership
than Your Majesty can provide. We take this step with no
hostility, but only resignation. We see no other alternative,
and must act for the good of Luthadel.
We regret to have to inform you of this by letter.
It was signed by all twenty-three members of the Assembly.
Elend lowered the paper, shocked.
"What?" Ham asked.
"I've just been deposed," Elend said quietly.
PART THREE
He left ruin in his wake, but it was forgotten. He created kingdoms, and
then destroyed them as he made the world anew.
28
"LET ME SEE IF I understand this correctly," Tindwyl said, calm and
polite, yet somehow still stern and disapproving. "There is a clause in the
kingdom's legal code that lets the Assembly overthrow their king?"
Elend wilted slightly. "Yes."
"And you wrote the law yourself?" Tindwyl demanded.
"Most of it," Elend admitted.
"You wrote into your own law a way that you could be deposed?"
Tindwyl repeated. Their group—expanded from those who had met in the
carriages to include Clubs, Tindwyl, and Captain Demoux—sat in Elend's
study. The group's size was such that they'd run out of chairs, and Vin sat
quietly at the side, on a stack of Elend's books, having quickly changed to
trousers and shirt. Tindwyl and Elend were standing, but the rest were
seated—Breeze prim, Ham relaxed, and Spook trying to balance his chair as
he leaned back on two legs.
"I put in that clause intentionally," Elend said. He stood at the front of the
room, leaning with one arm against the glass of his massive stained-glass
window, looking up at its dark shards. "This land wilted beneath the hand of
an oppressive ruler for a thousand years. During that time, philosophers and
thinkers dreamed of a government where a bad ruler could be ousted
without bloodshed. I took this throne through an unpredictable and unique
series of events, and I didn't think it right to unilaterally impose my will—
or the will of my descendants—upon the people. I wanted to start a
government whose monarchs would be responsible to their subjects."
Sometimes, he talks like those books he reads, Vin thought. Not like a
normal man at all. . .but like words on a page.
Zane's words came back to her, seeming to whisper in her mind. You
aren't like him. She pushed the thought out.
"With respect, Your Majesty," Tindwyl said, "this has to be one of the
most foolish things I've ever seen a leader do."
"It was for the good of the kingdom," Elend said.
"It was s1heer idiocy," Tindwyl snapped. "A king doesn't subject himself
to the whims of another ruling body. He is valuable to his people because he
is an absolute authority!"
Vin had rarely seen Elend so sorrowful, and she cringed a bit at the
sadness in his eyes. However, a different piece of her was rebelliously
happy. He wasn't king anymore. Now maybe people wouldn't work so hard
to kill him. Maybe he could just be Elend again, and they could leave. Go
somewhere. A place where things weren't so complicated.
"Regardless," Dockson said to the quiet room, "something must be done.
Discussing the prudence of decisions already past has little current
relevance."
"Agreed," Ham said. "So, the Assembly tried to kick you out. What are
we going to do about it?"
"We obviously can't let them have their way," Breeze said. "Why, the
people overthrew a government just last year! This is a bad habit to be
getting into, I should think."
"We need to prepare a response, Your Majesty," Dockson said.
"Something decrying this deceitful maneuver, performed while you were
negotiating for the very safety of the city. Now that I look back, it's obvious
that they arranged this meeting so that you couldn't be present and defend
yourself."
Elend nodded, still staring up at the dark glass. "There's probably no need
to call me Your Majesty anymore, Dox."
"Nonsense," Tindwyl said, arms folded as she stood beside a bookcase.
"You are still king."
"I've lost the mandate of the people," Elend said.
"Yes," Clubs said, "but you've still got the mandate of my armies. That
makes you king no matter what the Assembly says."
"Exactly," Tindwyl said. "Foolish laws aside, you're still in a position of
power. We need to tighten martial law, restrict movement within the city.
Seize control of key points, and sequester the members of the Assembly so
that your enemies can't raise a resistance against you."
"I'll have my men on the streets before light," Clubs said.
"No," Elend said quietly.
There was a pause.
"Your Majesty?" Dockson asked. "It really is the best move. We can't let
this faction against you gain momentum."
"It's not a faction, Dox," Elend said. "It's the elected representatives of
the Assembly."
"An Assembly you formed, my dear man," Breeze said. "They have
power because you gave it to them."
"The law gives them their power, Breeze," Elend said. "And we are all
subject to it."
"Nonsense," Tindwyl said. "As king, you are the law. Once we secure the
city, you can call in the Assembly and explain to its members that you need
their support. Those who disagree can be held until the crisis is over."
"No," Elend said, a little more firm. "We will do none of that."
"That's it, then?" Ham asked. "You're giving up?"
"I'm not giving up, Ham," Elend said, finally turning to regard the group.
"But I'm not going to use the city's armies to pressure the Assembly."
"You'll lose your throne," Breeze said.
"See reason, Elend," Ham said with a nod.
"I will not be an exception to my own laws!" Elend said.
"Don't be a fool," Tindwyl said. "You should—"
"Tindwyl," Elend said, "respond to my ideas as you wish, but do not call
me a fool again. I will not be belittled because I express my opinion!"
Tindwyl paused, mouth partially open. Then she pressed her lips together
and took her seat. Vin felt a quiet surge of satisfaction. You trained him,
Tindwyl, she thought with a smile. Can you really complain if he stands up
to you?
Elend walked forward, placing his hands on the table as he regarded the
group. "Yes, we will respond. Dox, you write a letter informing the
Assembly of our disappointment and feelings of betrayal—inform them of
our success with Straff, and lay on the guilt as thickly as possible.
"The rest of us will begin planning. We'll get the throne back. As has
been stated, I know the law. I wrote it. There are ways to deal with this.
Those ways do not, however, include sending our armies to secure the city.
I will not be like the tyrants who would take Luthadel from us! I will not
force the people to do my will, even if I know it is best for them."
"Your Majesty," Tindwyl said carefully, "there is nothing immoral about
securing your power during a time of chaos. People react irrationally during
such times. That is one of the reasons why they need strong leadership.
They need you."
"Only if they want me, Tindwyl," Elend said.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty," Tindwyl said, "but that statement seems
somewhat naive to me."
Elend smiled. "Perhaps it is. You can change my clothing and my
bearing, but you can't change the soul of who I am. I'll do what I think is
right—and that includes letting the Assembly depose me, if that is their
choice."
Tindwyl frowned. "And if you can't get your throne back through lawful
means?"
"Then I accept that fact," Elend said. "And do my best to help the
kingdom anyway."
So much for running away, Vin thought. However, she couldn't help
smiling. Part of what she loved about Elend was his sincerity. His simple
love for the people of Luthadel—his determination to do what was right for
them—was what separated him from Kelsier. Even in martyrdom, Kelsier
had displayed a hint of arrogance. He'd made certain that he would be
remembered like few men who had ever lived.
But Elend—to him, ruling the Central Dominance wasn't about fame or
glory. For the first time, completely and honestly, she decided something.
Elend was a far better king than Kelsier would ever have been.
"I'm. . .not certain what I think of this experience, Mistress," a voice
whispered beside her. Vin paused, looking down as she realized that she had
begun idly scratching OreSeur's ears.
She pulled her hand back with a start. "Sorry," she said.
OreSeur shrugged, resting his head back on his paws.
"So, you said there's a legal way to get the throne back," Ham said. "How
do we go about it?"
"The Assembly has one month to choose a new king," Elend said.
"Nothing in the law says that the new king can't be the same as the old one.
And, if they can't come up with a majority decision by that deadline, the
throne reverts to me for a minimum of one year."
"Complicated," Ham sa1id, rubbing his chin.
"What did you expect?" Breeze said. "It's the law."
"I didn't mean the law itself," Ham said. "I meant getting the Assembly to
either choose Elend or not choose anyone. They wouldn't have deposed him
in the first place unless they had another person in mind for the throne."
"Not necessarily," Dockson said. "Perhaps they simply meant this as a
warning."
"Perhaps," Elend said. "Gentlemen, I think this is a sign. I've been
ignoring the Assembly—we thought that they were taken care of, since I
got them to sign that proposal giving me right of parlay. However, we never
realized that an easy way for them to get around that proposal was to
choose a new king, then have him do as they wished."
He sighed, shaking his head. "I have to admit, I've never been very good
at handling the Assembly. They don't see me as a king, but as a colleague—
and because of that, they can easily see themselves taking my place. I'll bet
one of the Assemblymen has convinced the others to put him on the throne
instead."
"So, we just make him disappear," Ham said. "I'm sure Vin could. . ."
Elend frowned.
"I'm joking, El," Ham said.
"You know, Ham," Breeze noted. "The only funny thing about your jokes
is how often they lack any humor whatsoever."
"You're only saying that because they usually involve you in the punch
line."
Breeze rolled his eyes.
"You know," OreSeur muttered quietly, obviously counting on her tin to
let Vin hear him, "it seems that these meetings would be more productive if
someone forgot to invite those two."
Vin smiled. "They're not that bad," she whispered.
OreSeur raised an eyebrow.
"Okay," Vin said. "They do distract us a little bit."
"I could always eat one of them, if you wish," OreSeur said. "That might
speed things up."
Vin paused.
OreSeur, however, had a strange little smile on his lips. "Kandra humor,
Mistress. I apologize. We can be a bit grim."
Vin smiled. "They probably wouldn't taste very good anyway. Ham's far
too stringy, and you don't want to know the kinds of things that Breeze
spends his time eating. . .."
"I'm not sure," OreSeur said. "One is, after all, named 'Ham.' As for the
other. . ." He nodded to the cup of wine in Breeze's hand. "He does seem
quite fond of marinating himself."
Elend was picking through his stacks of books, pulling out several
relevant volumes on law—including the book of Luthadel law that he
himself had written.
"Your Majesty," Tindwyl said, emphasizing the term. "You have two
armies on your doorstep, and a group of koloss making their way into the
Central Dominance. Do you honestly think that you have time for a
protracted legal battle now?"
Elend set down the books and pulled his chair to the table. "Tindwyl," he
said. "I have two armies on my doorstep, koloss coming to pressure them,
and I myself am the main obstacle keeping the leaders of this city from
handing the kingdom over to one of the invaders. Do you honestly think
that it's a coincidence that I get deposed now?"
Several members of the crew perked up at this, and Vin cocked her head.
"You think one of the invaders might be behind this?" Ham asked,
rubbing his chin.
"What would you do, if you were them?" Elend said, opening a book.
"You can't attack the city, because it will cost you too many troops. The
siege has already lasted weeks, your troops are getting cold, and the men
Dockson hired have been attacking your canal supply barges, threatening
your food supply. Add on top of that, you know that a large force of koloss
are marching this way. . .and, well, it makes sense. If Straff and Cett's spies
are any good, they'll know that the Assembly just about capitulated and
gave the city away when that army first arrived. Assassins have failed to
kill me, but if there were another way to remove me. . ."
"Yes," Breeze said. "This does sound like something Cett would do. Turn
the Assembly against you, put a sympathizer on the throne, then get him to
open the gates."
Elend nodded. "And my father seemed hesitant to side with me this
evening, as if he felt he had some other way to get the city. I can't be certain
if either monarch is behind this move, Tindwyl, but we certainly can't
ignore the possibility. This isn't a distraction—this is very much part of the
same siege tactics we've been fighting since those armies arrived. If I can
put myself back on the throne, then Straff and Cett will know that I'm the
only one they can work with—and that will, hopefully, make them more
likely to side with me in desperation, particularly as those koloss draw
near."
With that, Elend began riffling through a stack of books. His depression
seemed to be abating in face of this new academic problem. "There might
be a few other clauses of relevance in the law," he half mumbled. "I need to
do some studying. Spook, did you invite Sazed to this meeting?"
Spook shrugged. "I couldn't get him to wake up."
"He's recovering from his trip here," Tindwyl said, turning away from her
study of Elend and his books. "It's an issue of the Keepers."
"Needs to refill one of his metalminds?" Ham asked.
Tindwyl paused, her expression darkening. "He explained that to you,
then?"
Ham and Breeze nodded.
"I see," Tindwyl said. "Regardless, he could not help with this problem,
Your Majesty. I give you some small aid in the area of government because
it is my duty to train leaders in knowledge of the past. However, traveling
Keepers such as Sazed do not take sides in political matters."
"Political matters?" Breeze asked lightly. "You mean, perhaps, like
overthrowing the Final Empire?"
Tindwyl closed her mouth, lips growing thin. "You should not encourage
him to break his vows," she finally said. "If you were his friends, you would
see that to be true, I think."
"Oh?" Breeze asked, pointing at her with his cup of wine. "Personally, I
think you're just embarrassed that he disobeyed you all, but then actually
ended up freeing your people."
Tindwyl gave Breeze a flat stare, her eyes narrow, her posture stiff. They
sat that way for a long moment. "Push on my emotions all you wish,
Soother," Tindwyl said. "My feelings are my own. You will have no success
here."
Breeze finally turned back to his drink, muttering something about
"damn Terrismen."
Elend, however, wasn1't paying attention to the argument. He already had
four books open on the table before him, and was flipping through a fifth.
Vin smiled, remembering the days—not so long ago—when his courtship of
her had often involved him plopping himself down in a nearby chair and
opening a book.
He is the same man, she thought. And that soul, that man, is the one who
loved me before he knew I was Mistborn. He loved me even after he
discovered I was a thief, and thought I was trying to rob him. I need to
remember that.
"Come on," she whispered to OreSeur, standing as Breeze and Ham got
into another argument. She needed time to think, and the mists were still
fresh.
This would be a lot easier if I weren't so skilled, Elend thought with
amusement, poking through his books. I set up the law too well.
He followed a particular passage with his finger, rereading it as the crew
slowly trailed away. He couldn't remember if he'd dismissed them or not.
Tindwyl would probably chastise him for that.
Here, he thought, tapping the page. I might have grounds to argue for a
revote if any of the members of the Assembly arrived late to the meeting, or
made their votes in absentia. The vote to depose had to be unanimous—
save, of course, for the king being deposed.
He paused, noticing movement. Tindwyl was the only one still in the
room with him. He looked up from his books with resignation. I probably
have this coming. . ..
"I apologize for treating you with disrespect, Your Majesty," she said.
Elend frowned. Wasn't expecting that.
"I have a habit of treating people like children," Tindwyl said. "It is not
something that I should be proud of, I think."
"It's—" Elend paused. Tindwyl had taught him never to excuse people's
failings. He could accept people with failings—even forgive them—but if
he glossed over the problems, then they would never change. "I accept your
apology," he said.
"You've learned quickly, Your Majesty."
"I haven't had much choice," Elend said with a smile. "Of course, I didn't
change fast enough for the Assembly."
"How did you let this happen?" she asked quietly. "Even considering our
disagreement over how a government should be run, I should think that
these Assemblymen would be supporters of yours. You gave them their
power."
"I ignored them, Tindwyl. Powerful men, friends or not, never like being
ignored."
She nodded. "Though, perhaps we should pause to take note of your
successes, rather than simply focusing on your failings. Vin tells me that
your meeting with your father went well."
Elend smiled. "We scared him into submission. It felt very good to do
something like that to Straff. But, I think I might have offended Vin
somehow."
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow.
Elend set down his book, leaning forward with his arms on the desk.
"She was in an odd mood on the way back. I could barely get her to talk to
me. I'm not sure what it was."
"Perhaps she was just tired."
"I'm not convinced that Vin gets tired," Elend said. "She's always
moving, always doing something. Sometimes, I worry that she thinks I'm
lazy. Maybe that's why. . ." He trai1led off, then shook his head.
"She doesn't think that you are lazy, Your Majesty," Tindwyl said. "She
refused to marry you because she doesn't think that she is worthy of you."
"Nonsense," Elend said. "Vin's Mistborn, Tindwyl. She knows she's
worth ten men like me."
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. "You understand very little about women,
Elend Venture—especially young women. To them, their competence has a
surprisingly small amount to do with how they feel about themselves. Vin is
insecure. She doesn't believe that she deserves to be with you—it is less that
she doesn't think she deserves you personally, and more that she isn't
convinced that she deserves to be happy at all. She has led a very confusing,
difficult life."
"How sure are you about this?"
"I've raised a number of daughters, Your Majesty," Tindwyl said. "I
understand the things of which I speak."
"Daughters?" Elend asked. "You have children?"
"Of course."
"I just. . ." The Terrismen he'd known were eunuchs, like Sazed. The
same couldn't be true for a woman like Tindwyl, of course, but he'd
assumed that the Lord Ruler's breeding programs would have affected her
somehow.
"Regardless," Tindwyl said curtly, "you must make some decisions, Your
Majesty. Your relationship with Vin is going to be difficult. She has certain
issues that will provide more problems than you would find in a more
conventional woman."
"We've already discussed this," Elend said. "I'm not looking for a more
'conventional' woman. I love Vin."
"I'm not implying that you shouldn't," Tindwyl said calmly. "I am simply
giving you instruction, as I have been asked to do. You need to decide how
much you're going to let the girl, and your relationship with her, distract
you."
"What makes you think I'm distracted?"
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. "I asked you about your success with Lord
Venture this evening, and all you wanted to talk about was how Vin felt
during the ride home."
Elend hesitated.
"Which is more important to you, Your Majesty?" Tindwyl asked. "This
girl's love, or the good of your people?"
"I'm not going to answer a question like that," Elend said.
"Eventually, you may not have a choice," Tindwyl said. "It is a question
most kings face eventually, I fear."
"No," Elend said. "There's no reason that I can't both love Vin and protect
my people. I've studied too many hypothetical dilemmas to be caught in a
trap like that."
Tindwyl shrugged, standing. "Believe as you wish, Your Majesty.
However, I already see a dilemma, and I find it not at all hypothetical." She
bowed her head slightly in deference, then withdrew from the room, leaving
him with his books.
There were other proofs to connect Alendi to the Hero of Ages. Smaller
things, things that only one trained in the lore of the Anticipation would
have noticed. The birthmark on his arm. The way his hair turned gray when
he was barely twenty and five years of age. The way he spoke, the way he
treated people, the way he ruled.
He simply seemed to fit.
219
"TELL ME, MISTRESS," ORESEUR SAID, lying lazily, head on paws.
"I have been around humans for a goodly number of years. I was under the
impression that they needed regular sleep. I guess I was mistaken."
Vin sat on a wall-top stone ledge, one leg up against her chest, the other
dangling over the side of the wall. Keep Hasting's towers were dark
shadows in the mists to her right and to her left. "I sleep," she said.
"Occasionally." OreSeur yawned a deep, tongue-stretching yawn. Was he
adopting more canine mannerisms?
Vin turned away from the kandra, looking east, over the slumbering city
of Luthadel. There was a fire in the distance, a growing light that was too
large to be of man's touch. Dawn had arrived. Another night had passed,
making it nearly a week since she and Elend had visited Straff's army. Zane
had yet to appear.
"You're burning pewter, aren't you?" OreSeur asked. "To stay awake?"
Vin nodded. Beneath a light burn of pewter, her fatigue was only a mild
annoyance. She could feel it deep within her, if she looked hard, but it had
no power over her. Her senses were keen, her body strong. Even the night's
cold wasn't as bothersome. The moment she extinguished her pewter,
however, she'd feel the exhaustion in force.
"That cannot be healthy, Mistress," OreSeur said. "You sleep barely three
or four hours a day. Nobody—Mistborn, man, or kandra—can survive on a
schedule like that for long."
Vin looked down. How could she explain her strange insomnia? She
should be over that; she no longer had to be frightened of the other
crewmembers around her. And yet, no matter how exhausted she grew, she
was finding sleep more and more difficult to claim. How could she sleep,
with that quiet thumping in the distance?
It seemed to be getting closer, for some reason. Or simply stronger? I
hear the thumping sounds from above, the pulsings from the mountains. . ..
Words from the logbook.
How could she sleep, knowing that the spirit watched her from the mist,
ominous and hateful? How could she sleep when armies threatened to
slaughter her friends, when Elend's kingdom had been taken from him,
when everything she thought she'd known and loved was getting muddled
and obscure?
. . .when I finally lie down, I find sleep elusive. The same thoughts that
trouble me during the day are only compounded by the stillness of night. . ..
OreSeur yawned again. "He's not coming, Mistress."
Vin turned, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"This is the last place you sparred with Zane," OreSeur said. "You're
waiting for him to come."
Vin paused. "I could use a spar," she finally said.
Light continued to grow in the east, slowly brightening the mists. The
mists persisted, however, reticent to give way before the sun.
"You shouldn't let that man influence you so, Mistress," OreSeur said. "I
do not think he is the person you believe him to be."
Vin frowned. "He's my enemy. What else would I believe?"
"You do not treat him like an enemy, Mistress."
"Well, he hasn't attacked Elend," Vin said. "Maybe Zane isn't fully under
Straff's control."
OreSeur sat quietly, head o1n paws. Then he turned away.
"What?" Vin asked.
"Nothing, Mistress. I will believe as I'm told."
"Oh, no," Vin said, turning on the ledge to look at him. "You're not going
back to that excuse. What were you thinking?"
OreSeur sighed. "I was thinking, Mistress, that your fixation with Zane is
disconcerting."
"Fixation?" Vin said. "I'm just keeping an eye on him. I don't like having
another Mistborn—enemy or not—running around in my city. Who knows
what he could be up to?"
OreSeur frowned, but said nothing.
"OreSeur," Vin said, "if you have things to say, speak!"
"I apologize, Mistress," OreSeur said. "I'm not accustomed to chatting
with my masters—especially not candidly."
"It's all right. Just speak your mind."
"Well, Mistress," OreSeur said, raising his head off his paws, "I do not
like this Zane."
"What do you know of him?"
"Nothing more than you," OreSeur admitted. "However, most kandra are
very good judges of character. When you practice imitation for as long as I
have, you learn to see to the hearts of men. I do not like what I have seen of
Zane. He seems too pleased with himself. He seems too deliberate in the
way he has befriended you. He makes me uncomfortable."
Vin sat on the ledge, legs parted, hands before her with palms down,
resting on the cool stone. He might be right.
But, OreSeur hadn't flown with Zane, hadn't sparred in the mists.
Through no fault of his own, OreSeur was like Elend. Not an Allomancer.
Neither of them could understand what it was to soar on a Push of steel, to
flare tin and experience the sudden shock of five heightened senses. They
couldn't know. They couldn't understand.
Vin leaned back. Then, she regarded the wolfhound in the growing light.
There was something she'd been meaning to mention, and now seemed as
good a time as any. "OreSeur, you can switch bodies, if you want."
The wolfhound raised an eyebrow.
"We have those bones that we found in the palace," Vin said. "You can
use those, if you're tired of being a dog."
"I couldn't use them," OreSeur said. "I haven't digested their body—I
wouldn't know the proper arrangement of muscles and organs to make the
person look correct."
"Well, then," Vin said. "We could get you a criminal."
"I thought you liked these bones on me," OreSeur said.
"I do," Vin said. "But, I don't want you to stay in a body that makes you
unhappy."
OreSeur snorted. "My happiness is not an issue."
"It is to me," Vin said. "We could—"
"Mistress," OreSeur interrupted.
"Yes?"
"I shall keep these bones. I've grown accustomed to them. It is very
frustrating to change forms often."
Vin hesitated. "All right," she finally said.
OreSeur nodded. "Though," he continued, "speaking of bodies, Mistress,
are we ever planning to return to the palace? Not all of us have the
c1onstitution of a Mistborn—some people need sleep and food on
occasion."
He certainly complains a lot more now, Vin thought. However, she found
the attitude to be a good sign; it meant OreSeur was growing more
comfortable with her. Comfortable enough to tell her when he thought she
was being stupid.
Why do I even bother with Zane? she thought, rising and turning eyes
northward. The mist was still moderately strong, and she could barely make
out Straff's army, still holding the northern canal, maintaining the siege. It
sat like a spider, waiting for the right time to spring.
Elend, she thought. I should be more focused on Elend. His motions to
dismiss the Assembly's decision, or to force a revote, had all failed. And,
stubbornly lawful as always, Elend continued to accept his failures. He still
thought he had a chance to persuade the Assembly to choose him as king—
or at least not vote anybody else to the position.
So he worked on speeches and planned with Breeze and Dockson. This
left him little time for Vin, and rightly so. The last thing he needed was her
distracting him. This was something she couldn't help him with—something
she couldn't fight or scare away.
His world is of papers, books, laws, and philosophies, she thought. He
rides the words of his theories like I ride the mists. I always worry that he
can't understand me. . .but can I really even understand him?
OreSeur stood, stretched, and placed his forepaws on the wall's railing to
raise himself and look north, like Vin.
Vin shook her head. "Sometimes, I wish Elend weren't so. . .well, noble.
The city doesn't need this confusion right now."
"He did the right thing, Mistress."
"You think so?"
"Of course," OreSeur said. "He made a contract. It is his duty to keep that
contract, no matter what. He must serve his master—in his case, that would
be the city—even if that master makes him do something very distasteful."
"That's a very kandralike way of seeing things," Vin said.
OreSeur looked up at her, raising a canine eyebrow, as if to ask Well,
what did you expect? She smiled; she had to suppress a chuckle every time
she saw that expression on his dog face.
"Come on," Vin said. "Let's get back to the palace."
"Excellent," OreSeur said, dropping down to all fours. "That meat I set
out should be perfect by now."
"Unless the maids found it again," Vin said with a smile.
OreSeur's expression darkened. "I thought you were going to warn
them."
"What would I say?" Vin asked with amusement. "Please don't throw
away this rancid meat—my dog likes to eat it?"
"Why not?" OreSeur asked. "When I imitate a human, I almost never get
to have a good meal, but dogs eat aged meat sometimes, don't they?"
"I honestly don't know," Vin said.
"Aged meat is delicious."
"You mean 'rotten' meat."
"Aged," OreSeur said insistently as she picked him up, preparing to carry
him down from the wall. The top of Keep Hasting was a good hundred feet
tall—far too high up for OreSeur to jump, and the only path down would be
throug1h the inside of the abandoned keep. Better to carry him.
"Aged meat is like aged wine or aged cheese," OreSeur continued. "It
tastes better when it's a few weeks old."
I suppose that's one of the side effects of being related to scavengers, Vin
thought. She hopped up on the lip of the wall, dropping a few coins.
However, as she prepared to jump—OreSeur a large bulk in her arms—she
hesitated. She turned one last time, looking out at Straff's army. It was fully
visible now; the sun had risen completely above the horizon. Yet, a few
insistent swirls of mist wavered in the air, as if trying to defy the sun, to
continue to cloak the city, to stave off the light of day. . ..
Lord Ruler! Vin thought, struck by a sudden insight. She'd been working
on this problem so long, it had begun to frustrate her. And now, when she'd
been ignoring it, the answer had come to her. As if her subconscious had
still been picking it apart.
"Mistress?" OreSeur asked. "Is everything all right?"
Vin opened her mouth slightly, cocking her head. "I think I just realized
what the Deepness was."
But, I must continue with the sparsest of detail. Space is limited. The
other Worldbringers must have thought themselves humble when they came
to me, admitting that they had been wrong. Even then, I was beginning to
doubt my original declaration.
But, I was prideful.
30
I write this record now, Sazed read, pounding it into a metal
slab, because I am afraid. Afraid for myself, yes—I admit to
being human. If Alendi does return from the Well of
Ascension, I am certain that my death will be one of his first
objectives. He is not an evil man, but he is a ruthless one.
That is, I think, a product of what he has been through.
I am also afraid, however, that all I have known—that my
story—will be forgotten. I am afraid for the world that is to
come. Afraid that Alendi will fail. Afraid of a doom brought
by the Deepness.
It all comes back to poor Alendi. I feel bad for him, and for
all the things he has been forced to endure. For what he has
been forced to become.
But, let me begin at the beginning. I met Alendi first in
Khlennium; he was a young lad then, and had not yet been
warped by a decade spent leading armies.
Alendi's height struck me the first time I saw him. Here was a
man who was small of stature, but who seemed to tower over
others, a man who demanded respect.
Oddly, it was Alendi's simple ingenuousness that first led me
to befriend him. I employed him as an assistant during his
first months in the grand city.
It wasn't until years later that I became convinced that
Alendi was the Hero of Ages. Hero of Ages: the one called
Rabzeen in Khlennium, the Anamnesor.
Savior.
When I finally had the realization—finally connected all of
the signs of the Anticipation to him—I was so excited. Yet,
when I announced my discovery to the other Worldbringers,
I was met with scorn. Oh, how I wish that I had listened to
them.
And yet, any who know me will realize that there was no
chance I would give up so easily. Once I find something to
investigate, I become dogged in my pursuit. I had determined
that Alendi was the Hero of Ages, and I intended to prove it.
I should have bowed before the will of the others; I shouldn't
have insisted on traveling with Alendi to witness his
journeys. It was inevitable that Alendi himself would find out
what I believed him to be.
Yes, he was the one who fueled the rumors after that. I could
never have done what he himself did, convincing and
persuading the world that he was indeed the Hero. I don't
know if he himself believed it, but he made others think that
he must be the one.
If only the Terris religion, and belief in the Anticipation,
hadn't spread beyond our people. If only the Deepness hadn't
come, providing a threat that drove men to desperation both
in action and belief. If only I had passed over Alendi when
looking for an assistant, all those years ago.
Sazed sat back from his work of transcribing the rubbing. There was still
a great deal to do—it was amazing how much writing this Kwaan had
managed to cram onto the relatively small sheet of steel.
Sazed looked over his work. He'd spent his entire trip north anticipating
the time when he could finally begin work on the rubbing. A part of him
had been worried. Would the dead man's words seem as important sitting in
a well-lit room as they had when in the dungeons of the Conventical of
Seran?
He scanned to another part of the document, reading a few choice
paragraphs. Ones of particular importance to him.
As the one who found Alendi, however, I became someone
important. Foremost amongst the Worldbringers.
There was a place for me, in the lore of the Anticipation—I
thought myself the Announcer, the prophet foretold to
discover the Hero of Ages. Renouncing Alendi then would
have been to renounce my new position, my acceptance, by
the others.
And so I did not.
But I do so now. Let it be known that I, Kwaan, Worldbringer
of Terris, am a fraud.
Sazed closed his eyes. Worldbringer. The term was known to him; the
order of the Keepers had been founded upon memories and hopes from
Terris legends. The Worldbringers had been teachers, Feruchemists who had
traveled the lands bearing knowledge. They had been a prime inspiration
for the secret order of Keepers.
And now he had a document made by a Worldbringer's own hand.
Tindwyl is going to be very annoyed with me, Sazed thought, opening his
eyes. He'd read the entire 1rubbing, but he would need to spend time
studying it. Memorizing it. Cross-referencing it with other documents. This
one bit of writing—perhaps twenty pages total—could easily keep him busy
for months, even years.
His window shutters rattled. Sazed looked up. He was in his quarters at
the palace—a tasteful collection of well-decorated rooms that were far too
lavish for one who had spent his life as a servant. He rose, walked over to
the window, undid the latch, and pulled open the shutters. He smiled as he
found Vin crouching on the ledge outside.
"Um. . .hi," Vin said. She wore her mistcloak over gray shirt and black
trousers. Despite the onset of morning, she obviously hadn't yet gone to bed
after her nightly prowling. "You should leave your window unlatched. I
can't get in if it's locked. Elend got mad at me for breaking too many
latches."
"I shall try to remember that, Lady Vin," Sazed said, and gesturing for
her to enter.
Vin hopped spryly through the window, mistcloak rustling. "Try to
remember?" she asked. "You never forget anything. Not even the things you
don't have stuck in a metalmind."
She's grown so much more bold, he thought as she walked over to his
writing desk, peering over his work. Even in the months I've been away.
"What's this?" Vin asked, still looking at the desk.
"I found it at the Conventical of Seran, Lady Vin," Sazed said, walking
forward. It felt so good to be wearing clean robes again, to have a quiet and
comfortable place in which to study. Was he a bad man for preferring this to
travel?
One month, he thought. I will give myself one month of study. Then I will
turn the project over to someone else.
"What is it?" Vin asked, holding up the rubbing.
"If you please, Lady Vin," Sazed said apprehensively. "That is quite
fragile. The rubbing could be smudged. . .."
Vin nodded, putting it down and scanning his transcription. There had
been a time when she would have avoided anything that smelled of stuffy
writing, but now she looked intrigued. "This mentions the Deepness!" she
said with excitement.
"Among other things," Sazed said, joining her at the desk. He sat down,
and Vin walked over to one of the room's low-backed, plush chairs.
However, she didn't sit on it as an ordinary person would; instead, she
hopped up and sat down on the top of the chair's back, her feet resting on
the seat cushion.
"What?" she asked, apparently noticing Sazed's smile.
"Just amused at a proclivity of Mistborn, Lady Vin," he said. "Your kind
has trouble simply sitting—it seems you always want to perch instead. That
is what comes from having such an incredible sense of balance, I think."
Vin frowned, but passed over the comment. "Sazed," she said, "what was
the Deepness?"
He laced his fingers before himself, regarding the young woman as he
mused. "The Deepness, Lady Vin? That is a subject of much debate, I think.
It was supposedly something great and powerful, though some scholars
have dismissed the entire legend as a fabrication concocted by the Lord
Ruler. There is some reason to believe this theory, I think, for the only real
records of those times are the ones sanctioned by the Steel Ministry."
"But, the logbook mentions the Deepness," Vin said. "And so does that
thing you're translating now1."
"Indeed, Lady Vin," Sazed said. "But, even among those who assume the
Deepness was real, there is a great deal of debate. Some hold to the Lord
Ruler's official story, that the Deepness was a horrible, supernatural beast—
a dark god, if you will. Others disagree with this extreme interpretation.
They think the Deepness was more mundane—an army of some sort,
perhaps invaders from another land. The Farmost Dominance, during preAscension times, was apparently populated with several breeds of men who
were quite primitive and warlike."
Vin was smiling. He looked at her questioningly, and she just shrugged.
"I asked Elend this same question," she explained, "and I got barely a
sentence-long response."
"His Majesty has different areas of scholarship; pre-Ascension history
may be too stuffy a topic even for him. Besides, anyone who asks a Keeper
about the past should be prepared for an extended conversation, I think."
"I'm not complaining," Vin said. "Continue."
"There isn't much more to say—or, rather, there is a great deal more to
say, but I doubt much of it has relevance. Was the Deepness an army? Was
it, perhaps, the first attack from koloss, as some theorize? That would
explain much—most stories agree that the Lord Ruler gained some power
to defeat the Deepness at the Well of Ascension. Perhaps he gained the
support of the koloss, and then used them as his armies."
"Sazed," Vin said. "I don't think the Deepness was the koloss."
"Oh?"
"I think it was the mist."
"That theory has been proposed," Sazed said with a nod.
"It has?" Vin asked, sounding a bit disappointed.
"Of course, Lady Vin. During the thousand-year reign of the Final
Empire, there are few possibilities that haven't been discussed, I think. The
mist theory has been advanced before, but there are several large problems
with it."
"Such as?"
"Well," Sazed said, "for one thing, the Lord Ruler is said to have defeated
the Deepness. However, the mist is obviously still here. Also, if the
Deepness was simply mist, why call it by such an obscure name? Of course,
others point out that much of what we know or have heard of the Deepness
comes from oral lore, and something very common can take on mystical
properties when transferred verbally through generations. The 'Deepness'
therefore could mean not just the mist, but the event of its coming or
alteration.
"The larger problem with the mist theory, however, is one of malignance.
If we trust the accounts—and we have little else to go on—the Deepness
was terrible and destructive. The mist seems to display none of this danger."
"But it kills people now."
Sazed paused. "Yes, Lady Vin. It apparently does."
"And what if it did so before, but the Lord Ruler stopped it somehow?
You yourself said that you think we did something—something that
changed the mist—when we killed the Lord Ruler."
Sazed nodded. "The problems I have been investigating are quite terrible,
to be certain. However, I do not see that they could be a threat on the same
level as the Deepness. Certain people have been killed by the mists, but
many are elderly or otherwise lacking in constitution. It leaves many people
alone."
He paused, tapping his thumbs together1. "But, I would be remiss if I
didn't admit some merit to the suggestion, Lady Vin. Perhaps even a few
deaths would be enough to cause a panic. The danger could have been
exaggerated by retelling—and, perhaps the killings were more widespread
before. I haven't been able to collect enough information to be certain of
anything yet."
Vin didn't respond. Oh, dear, Sazed thought, sighing to himself. I've
bored her. I really do need to be more careful, watching my vocabulary and
my language. One would think that after all my travels among the skaa, I
would have learned—
"Sazed?" Vin said, sounding thoughtful. "What if we're looking at it
wrong? What if these random deaths in the mists aren't the problem at all?"
"What do you mean, Lady Vin?"
She sat quietly for a moment, one foot tapping back idly against the
chair's back cushion. She finally looked up, meeting his eyes. "What would
happen if the mists came during the day permanently?"
Sazed mused on that for a moment.
"There would be no light," Vin continued. "Plants would die, people
would starve. There would be death. . .chaos."
"I suppose," Sazed said. "Perhaps that theory has merit."
"It's not a theory," Vin said, hopping down from her chair. "It's what
happened."
"You're so certain, already?" Sazed asked with amusement.
Vin nodded curtly, joining him at the desk. "I'm right," she said with her
characteristic bluntness. "I know it." She pulled something out of a trouser
pocket, then drew over a stool to sit beside him. She unfolded the wrinkled
sheet and flattened it on the desk.
"These are quotes from the logbook," Vin said. She pointed at a
paragraph. "Here the Lord Ruler talks about how armies were useless
against the Deepness. At first, I thought this meant that the armies hadn't
been able to defeat it—but look at the wording. He says 'The swords of my
armies are useless.' What's more useless than trying to swing a sword at
mist?"
She pointed at another paragraph. "It left destruction in its wake, right?
Countless thousands died because of it. But, he never says that the
Deepness actually attacked them. He says that they 'died because of it.'
Maybe we've just been looking at this the wrong way all along. Those
people weren't crushed or eaten. They starved to death because their land
was slowly being swallowed by the mists."
Sazed studied her paper. She seemed so certain. Did she know nothing of
proper research techniques? Of questioning, of studying, of postulating and
devising answers?
Of course she doesn't, Sazed chastised himself. She grew up on the
streets—she doesn't use research techniques.
She just uses instinct. And she's usually right.
He smoothed the paper again, reading its passages. "Lady Vin? Did you
write this yourself?"
She flushed. "Why is everybody so surprised about that?"
"It just doesn't seem in your nature, Lady Vin."
"You people have corrupted me," she said. "Look, there isn't a single
comment on this sheet that contradicts the idea that the Deepness was mist."
"Not contradicting a point and proving it are different things, Lady Vin."
S1he waved indifferently. "I'm right, Sazed. I know I am."
"What about this point, then?" Sazed asked, pointing to a line. "The Hero
implies that he can sense a sentience to the Deepness. The mist isn't alive."
"Well, it does swirl around someone using Allomancy."
"That isn't the same thing, I think," Sazed said. "He says that the
Deepness was mad. . .destructively insane. Evil."
Vin paused. "There is something, Sazed," she admitted.
He frowned.
She pointed at another section of notes. "Do you recognize these
paragraphs?" It isn't a shadow, the words read.
This dark thing that follows me, the thing that only I can see
—it isn't really a shadow. It is blackish and translucent, but
it doesn't have a shadowlike solid outline. It's insubstantial—
wispy and formless. Like it's made out of a dark fog.
Or mist, perhaps.
"Yes, Lady Vin," Sazed said. "The Hero saw a creature following him. It
attacked one of his companions, I think."
Vin looked in his eyes. "I've seen it, Sazed."
He felt a chill.
"It's out there," she said. "Every night, in the mists. Watching me. I can
feel it, with Allomancy. And, if I get close enough, I can see it. As if formed
from the mist itself. Insubstantial, yet somehow still there."
Sazed sat quietly for a moment, not certain what to think.
"You think me mad," Vin accused.
"No, Lady Vin," he said quietly. "I don't think any of us are in a position
to call such things madness, not considering what is happening. Just. . .are
you certain?"
She nodded firmly.
"But," Sazed said. "Even if this is true, it does not answer my question.
The logbook author saw that same creature, and he didn't refer to it as the
Deepness. It was not the Deepness, then. The Deepness was something else
—something dangerous, something he could feel as evil."
"That's the secret, then," Vin said. "We have to figure out why he spoke
of the mists that way. Then we'll know. . ."
"Know what, Lady Vin?" Sazed asked.
Vin paused, then looked away. She didn't answer, instead turning to a
different topic. "Sazed, the Hero never did what he was supposed to.
Rashek killed him. And, when Rashek took the power at the Well, he didn't
give it up like he was supposed to—he kept it for himself."
"True," Sazed said.
Vin paused again. "And the mists have started killing people. They've
started coming during the day. It's. . .like things are repeating again. So. .
.maybe that means that the Hero of Ages will have to come again."
She glanced back at him, looking a bit. . .embarrassed? Ah. . .Sazed
thought, sensing her implication. She saw things in the mists. The previous
Hero had seen the same things. "I am not certain that is a valid statement,
Lady Vin."
She snorted. "Why can't you just come out and say 'you're wrong,' like
regular people?"
"I apologize, Lady Vin. I have had much training as a servant, and we are
taught to be nonconfrontational. Nevertheless, I do not think that you are
wrong. However, I also think that, perhaps, you haven't fully considered
your position."
Vin shrugged.
"What makes you think that the Hero of Ages will return?"
"I don't know. Things that happen; things I feel. The mists are coming
again, and someone needs to stop them."
Sazed ran his fingers across his translated section of the rubbing, looking
over its words.
"You don't believe me," Vin said.
"It isn't that, Lady Vin," Sazed said. "It's just that I am not prone to
rushing to decisions."
"But, you've thought about the Hero of Ages, haven't you?" Vin said. "He
was part of your religion—the lost religion of Terris, the thing you Keepers
were founded to try and discover."
"That is true," Sazed admitted. "However, we do not know much about
the prophecies that our ancestors used to find their Hero. Besides, the
reading I've been doing lately suggests that there was something wrong with
their interpretations. If the greatest theologians of pre-Ascension Terris
were unable to properly identify their Hero, how are we supposed to do
so?"
Vin sat quietly. "I shouldn't have brought it up," she finally said.
"No, Lady Vin, please don't think that. I apologize—your theories have
great merit. I simply have a scholar's mind, and must question and consider
information when I am given it. I am far too fond of arguing, I think."
Vin looked up, smiling slightly. "Another reason you never made a good
Terris steward?"
"Undoubtedly," he said with a sigh. "My attitude also tends to cause
conflicts with the others of my order."
"Like Tindwyl?" Vin asked. "She didn't sound happy when she heard that
you'd told us about Feruchemy."
Sazed nodded. "For a group dedicated to knowledge, the Keepers can be
rather stingy with information about their powers. When the Lord Ruler still
lived—when Keepers were hunted—the caution was warranted, I think.
But, now that we are free from that, my brethren and sisters seem to have
found the habit of secrecy a difficult one to break."
Vin nodded. "Tindwyl doesn't seem to like you very much. She says that
she came because of your suggestion, but every time someone mentions
you, she seems to get. . .cold."
Sazed sighed. Did Tindwyl dislike him? He thought, perhaps, that her
inability to do so was a large part of the problem. "She is simply
disappointed in me, Lady Vin. I'm not sure how much you know of my
history, but I had been working against the Lord Ruler for some ten years
before Kelsier recruited me. The other Keepers thought that I endangered
my copperminds, and the very order itself. They believed that the Keepers
should remain quiet—waiting for the day when the Lord Ruler fell, but not
seeking to make it happen."
"Seems a bit cowardly to me," Vin said.
"Ah, but it was a very prudent course. You see, Lady Vin, had I been
captured, there are many things I could have revealed. The names of other
Keepers, the location of our safe houses, the means by which we managed
to hide ourselves in Terris culture. My brethren worked for many decades to
make the Lord Ruler think that Feruchemy had finally been extermi1nated.
By revealing myself, I could have undone all of that."
"That would only have been bad had we failed," Vin said. "We didn't."
"We could have."
"We didn't."
Sazed paused, then smiled. Sometimes, in a world of debate, questions,
and self-doubt, Vin's simple bluntness was refreshing. "Regardless," he
continued, "Tindwyl is a member of the Synod—a group of Keeper elders
who guide our sect. I have been in rebellion against the Synod a number of
times during my past. And, by returning to Luthadel, I am defying them
once again. She has good reason to be displeased with me."
"Well, I think you're doing the right thing," Vin said. "We need you."
"Thank you, Lady Vin."
"I don't think you have to listen to Tindwyl," she said. "She's the type
who acts like she knows more than she does."
"She is very wise."
"She's hard on Elend."
"Then she probably does so because it is best for him," Sazed said. "Do
not judge her too harshly, child. If she seems off-putting, it is only because
she has lived a very hard life."
"Hard life?" Vin asked, tucking her notes back into her pocket.
"Yes, Lady Vin," Sazed said. "You see, Tindwyl spent most of her life as
a Terris mother."
Vin hesitated, hand in pocket, looking surprised. "You mean. . .she was a
Breeder?"
Sazed nodded. The Lord Ruler's breeding program included selecting a
few, special individuals to use for birthing new children—with the goal
being to breed Feruchemy out of the population.
"Tindwyl had, at last count, birthed over twenty children," he said. "Each
with a different father. Tindwyl had her first child when she was fourteen,
and spent her entire life being taken repeatedly by strange men until she
became pregnant. And, because of the fertility drugs the Breeding masters
forced upon her, she often bore twins or triplets."
"I. . .see," Vin said softly.
"You are not the only one who knew a terrible childhood, Lady Vin.
Tindwyl is perhaps the strongest woman I know."
"How did she bear it?" Vin asked quietly. "I think. . .I think I would
probably have just killed myself."
"She is a Keeper," Sazed said. "She suffered the indignity because she
knew that she did a great service for her people. You see, Feruchemy is
hereditary. Tindwyl's position as a mother ensured future generations of
Feruchemists among our people. Ironically, she is exactly the sort of person
that the Breeding masters were supposed to avoid letting reproduce."
"But, how did such a thing happen?"
"The breeders assumed they'd already cut Feruchemy out of the
population," Sazed said. "They started looking to create other traits in the
Terris—docility, temperance. They bred us like fine horses, and it was a
great stroke when the Synod managed to get Tindwyl chosen for their
program.
"Of course, Tindwyl has very little training in Feruchemy. She did,
fortunately, receive some of the copperminds that we Keepers carry. So,
during her many years locked away, she was able to study and read
biographies. It was only during the last decade—her childbearing years
through—that she was able to joi1n and gain fellowship with the other
Keepers."
Sazed paused, then shook his head. "By comparison, the rest of us have
known a life of freedom, I think."
"Great," Vin mumbled, standing and yawning. "Another reason for you to
feel guilty."
"You should sleep, Lady Vin," Sazed noted.
"For a few hours," Vin said, walking toward the door, leaving him alone
again with his studies.
In the end, my pride may have doomed us all.
31
PHILEN FRANDEU WAS NOT SKAA. He had never been skaa. Skaa
made things or grew things. Philen sold things. There was an enormous
difference between the two.
Oh, some people had called him skaa. Even now, he could see that word
in the eyes of some of the other Assemblymen. They regarded Philen and
his fellow merchants with the same disdain that they gave the eight skaa
workers on the Assembly. Couldn't they see that the two groups were
completely different?
Philen shifted a bit on the bench. Shouldn't the Assembly hall at least
have comfortable seating? They were waiting on just a few members; the
tall clock in the corner said that fifteen minutes still remained until the
meeting began. Oddly, one of those who had yet to arrive was Venture
himself. King Elend was usually early.
Not king anymore, Philen thought with a smile. Just plain old Elend
Venture. It was a poor name—not as good as Philen's own. Of course, he
had been just "Lin" until a year and a half ago. Philen Frandeu was what he
had dubbed himself after the Collapse. It delighted him to no end that the
others had taken to calling him the name without pause. But, why shouldn't
he have a grand name? A lord's name? Was Philen not as good as any of the
"noblemen" sitting aloofly in their places?
Oh, he was just as good. Better, even. Yes, they had called him skaa—but
during those years, they had come to him out of need, and so their arrogant
sneers had lacked power. He'd seen their insecurity. They'd needed him. A
man they called skaa. But he'd also been a merchant. A merchant who
wasn't noble. Something that wasn't supposed to have existed in the Lord
Ruler's perfect little empire.
But, noblemen merchants had to work with the obligators. And, where
there had been obligators, nothing illegal could occur. Hence Philen. He'd
been. . .an intermediary, of sorts. A man capable of arranging deals between
interested parties who, for various reasons, wanted to avoid the watchful
eyes of the Lord Ruler's obligators. Philen hadn't been part of a thieving
crew—no, that was far too dangerous. And far too mundane.
He had been born with an eye for finances and trades. Give him two
rocks, and he'd have a quarry by the end of the week. Give him a spoke, and
he'd change it to a fine horse-drawn carriage. Two bits of corn, and he'd
eventually have a massive shipment of grain sailing to the Farmost
Dominance markets. Actual noblemen had done the trades, of course, but
Philen had been behind it all. A vast empire of his own.
And still, they couldn't see. He wore a suit as fine as theirs; now that he
could trade openly, he had become one of the wealthiest men in Luthadel.
Yet, the noblemen ignored him, just because he lacked a valid pedigree.
Well, they would see. After today's meeting. . .yes, they would see.
Philen looked out into the crowd, looking anxiously for the 1person he had
hidden there. Reassured, he looked toward the noblemen of the Assembly,
who sat chatting a short distance away. One of their last members—Lord
Ferson Penrod—had just arrived. The older man walked up onto the
Assembly's dais, passing by the members, greeting each in turn.
"Philen," Penrod said, noticing him. "A new suit, I see. The red vest suits
you."
"Lord Penrod! Why, you're looking well. You got over the other night's
ailment, then?"
"Yes, it passed quickly," the lord said, nodding a head topped with silver
hair. "Just a touch of stomach ills."
Pity, Philen thought, smiling. "Well, we'd best be seated. I see that young
Venture isn't here, though. . .."
"Yes," Penrod said, frowning. He'd been most difficult to convince to
vote against Venture; he had something of a fondness for the boy. He had
come around in the end. They all had.
Penrod moved on, joining the other noblemen. The old fool probably
thought he was going to end up as king. Well, Philen had other plans for
that throne. It wasn't Philen's own posterior that would sit in it, of course; he
had no interest in running a country. Seemed like a terrible way to make
money. Selling things. That was a much better way. More stable, less likely
to lose one his head.
Oh, but Philen had plans. He'd always had those. He had to keep himself
from glancing at the audience again.
Philen turned, instead, to study the Assembly. They had all arrived except
Venture. Seven noblemen, eight merchants, and eight skaa workers: twentyfour men, with Venture. The three-way division was supposed to give the
commoners the most power, since they ostensibly outnumbered the
noblemen. Even Venture hadn't understood that merchants weren't skaa.
Philen wrinkled his nose. Even though the skaa Assemblymen usually
cleaned up before coming to the meetings, he could smell the stink of
forges, mills, and shops on them. Men who made things. Philen would have
to be certain they were put back in their place, once this was over. An
Assembly was an interesting idea, but it should be filled only with those
who deserved the station. Men like Philen.
Lord Philen, he thought. Not long now.
Hopefully, Elend would be late. Then, maybe they could avoid his
speech. Philen could imagine how it would go anyway.
Um. . .now, see, this wasn't fair. I should be king. Here, let me read you a
book about why. Now, um, can you all please give some more money to the
skaa?
Philen smiled.
The man next to him, Getrue, nudged him. "You think he's going to show
up?" he whispered.
"Probably not. He must know that we don't want him. We kicked him
out, didn't we?"
Getrue shrugged. He'd gained weight since the Collapse—a lot of it. "I
don't know, Lin. I mean. . .we didn't mean. He was just. . .the armies. . .We
have to have a strong king, right? Someone who will keep the city from
falling?"
"Of course," Philen said. "And my name isn't Lin."
Getrue flushed. "Sorry."
"We did the right thing," Philen continued. "Venture is a weak man. A
fool."
"I wouldn't say that," Getrue said. "He has good ideas. . .." Getrue
glanced downward uncomfortably.
Philen snorted, glancing at the clock. It was time, though he couldn't hear
the chimes over the crowd. The Assembly meetings had become busy since
Venture's fall. Benches fanned out before the stage, benches crowded with
people, mostly skaa. Philen wasn't sure why they were allowed to attend.
They couldn't vote or anything.
More Venture foolishness, he thought, shaking his head. At the very back
of the room—behind the crowd, opposite the stage—sat two large, broad
doors letting in the red sunlight. Philen nodded toward some men, and they
pushed the doors shut. The crowds hushed.
Philen stood to address the Assembly. "Well, since—"
The Assembly hall doors burst back open. A man in white stood with a
small crowd of people, backlit by red sunlight. Elend Venture. Philen
cocked his head, frowning.
The former king strode forward, white cape fluttering behind him. His
Mistborn was at his side, as usual, but she was wearing a dress. From the
few times Philen had spoken with her, he would have expected her to look
awkward in a noblewoman's gown. And yet, she seemed to wear it well,
walking gracefully. She actually looked rather fetching.
At least, until Philen met her eyes. She did not have a warm look for the
Assembly members, and Philen glanced away. Venture had brought all of
his Allomancers with him—the former thugs of the Survivor's crew. Elend
apparently wanted to remind everyone who his friends were. Powerful men.
Frightening men.
Men who killed gods.
And Elend had not one, but two Terrismen with him. One was only a
woman—Philen had never seen a Terriswoman before—but still, it was
impressive. Everyone had heard how the stewards had left their masters
after the Collapse; they refused to work as servants anymore. Where had
Venture found not one, but two of the colorful-robed stewards to serve him?
The crowd sat quietly, watching Venture. Some seemed uncomfortable.
How were they to treat this man? Others seemed. . .awed? Was that right?
Who would be awed by Elend Venture—even if the Elend Venture in
question was clean-shaven, had styled hair, wore new clothing and. . .?
Philen frowned. Was that a dueling cane the king was wearing? And a
wolfhound at his side?
He's not king anymore! Philen reminded himself again.
Venture strode up onto the Assembly stage. He turned, waving for his
people—all eight of them—to sit with the guards. Venture then turned and
glanced at Philen. "Philen, did you want to say something?"
Philen realized he was still standing. "I. . .was just—"
"Are you Assembly chancellor?" Elend asked.
Philen paused. "Chancellor?"
"The king presides at Assembly meetings," Elend said. "We now have no
king—and so, by law, the Assembly should have elected a chancellor to call
speakers, adjudicate time allotments, and break tie votes." He paused,
eyeing Philen. "Someone needs to lead. Otherwise there is chaos."
Despite himself, Philen grew nervous. Did Venture know that Philen had
organized the vote against him? No, no he didn't, he couldn't. He was
looking at each of the Assembly members in turn, meeting their eyes. There
was none of the jovial, dismissible boy that had attended these meetings
before. Standing in the militaristic suit, firm instead of hesitant. . .he almost
seemed like a different person.
You found a coac1h, it appears, Philen thought. A little too late. Just
wait. . ..
Philen sat down. "Actually, we didn't get a chance to choose a
chancellor," he said. "We were just getting to that."
Elend nodded, a dozen different instructions rattling in his head. Keep
eye contact. Use subtle, but firm, expressions. Never appear hurried, but
don't seem hesitant. Sit down without wiggling, don't shuffle, use a straight
posture, don't form your hands into fists when you're nervous. . ..
He shot a quick glance at Tindwyl. She gave him a nod.
Get back to it, El, he told himself. Let them sense the differences in you.
He walked over to take his seat, nodding to the other seven noblemen on
the Assembly. "Very well," he said, taking the lead. "Then, might I
nominate a chancellor?"
"Yourself?" asked Dridel, one of the noblemen; his sneer seemed
permanent, as far as Elend could tell. It was a passably appropriate
expression for one with such a sharp face and dark hair.
"No," Elend said. "I'm hardly an unbiased party in today's proceedings.
Therefore, I nominate Lord Penrod. He's as honorable a man as we're likely
to find, and I believe he can be trusted to mediate our discussions."
The group was quiet for a moment.
"That seems logical," Hettel, a forge worker, finally said.
"All in favor?" Elend said, raising his hand. He got a good eighteen
hands—all of the skaa, most of the nobility, only one of the merchants. It
was a majority, however.
Elend turned to Lord Penrod. "I believe that means that you are in charge,
Ferson."
The stately man nodded appreciatively, then rose to formally open the
meeting, something Elend had once done. Penrod's mannerisms were
polished, his posture strong as he stood in his well-cut suit. Elend couldn't
help but feel a little jealous, watching Penrod act so naturally in the things
that Elend was struggling to learn.
Maybe he would make a better king than I, Elend thought. Perhaps. . .
No, he thought firmly. I have to be confident. Penrod is a decent man and
an impeccable noble, but those things do not make a leader. He hasn't read
what I've read, and doesn't understand legislative theory as I do. He's a
good man, but he's still a product of his society—he doesn't consider skaa
animals, but he'll never be able to think of them as equals.
Penrod finished the introductions, then turned to Elend. "Lord Venture,
you called this meeting. I believe that the law grants you first opportunity to
address the Assembly."
Elend nodded thankfully, rising.
"Will twenty minutes be enough time?" Penrod asked.
"It should be," Elend said, passing Penrod as they traded places. Elend
stood up at the lectern. To his right, the floor of the hall was packed with
shuffling, coughing, whispering people. There was a tension to the room—
this was the first time Elend had confronted the group that had betrayed
him.
"As many of you know," Elend said to the twenty-three Assembly
members, "I recently returned from a meeting with Straff Venture—the
warlord who is, unfortunately, my father. I would like to give a report of
this encounter. Realize that because this is an open meeting, I will adjust my
report to av1oid mentioning sensitive matters of national security."
He paused just slightly, and saw the looks of confusion he had expected.
Finally, Philen the merchant cleared his throat.
"Yes, Philen?" Elend asked.
"This is all well and good, Elend," Philen said. "But aren't you going to
address the matter that brought us here?"
"The reason we meet together, Philen," Elend said, "is so that we can
discuss how to keep Luthadel safe and prosperous. I think the people are
most worried about the armies—and we should, primarily, seek to address
their concerns. Matters of leadership in the Assembly can wait."
"I. . .see," Philen said, obviously confused.
"The time is yours, Lord Venture," Penrod said. "Proceed as you wish."
"Thank you, Chancellor," Elend said. "I wish to make it very clear that
my father is not going to attack this city. I can understand why people
would be concerned, particularly because of last week's preliminary assault
on our walls. That, however, was simply a test—Straff fears attacking too
much to commit all of his resources.
"During our meeting, Straff told me that he had made an alliance with
Cett. However, I believe this to have been a bluff—if, unfortunately, a bluff
with teeth. I suspect that he was, indeed, planning to risk attacking us,
despite Cett's presence. That attack has been halted."
"Why?" asked one of the worker representatives. "Because you're his
son?"
"No, actually," Elend said. "Straff is not one to let familial relationships
hamper his determination." Elend paused, glancing at Vin. He was
beginning to realize that she didn't like being the one who held the knife at
Straff's throat, but she had given him permission to speak of her in his
speech.
Still. . .
She said it was all right, he told himself. I'm not choosing duty over her!
"Come now, Elend," Philen said. "Stop with the theatrics. What did you
promise Straff to keep his armies out of the city?"
"I threatened him," Elend said. "My fellow Assemblymen, when facing
down my father in parlay, I realized that we—as a group—have generally
ignored one of our greatest resources. We think of ourselves as an
honorable body, created by the mandate of the people. However, we are not
here because of anything we ourselves did. There is only one reason we
have the positions we do—and that reason is the Survivor of Hathsin."
Elend looked the members of the Assembly in the eyes as he continued.
"I have, at times, felt as I suspect that many of you do. The Survivor is a
legend already, one we cannot hope to emulate. He has power over this
people—a power stronger than our own, even though he is dead. We're
jealous. Insecure, even. These are natural, human feelings. Leaders feel
them just as acutely as other people—perhaps even more so.
"Gentlemen, we cannot afford to continue thinking like this. The
Survivor's legacy doesn't belong to one group, or even to this city alone. He
is our progenitor—the father of everyone who is free in this land. Whether
or not you accept his religious authority, you must admit that without his
bravery and sacrifice, we would not now enjoy our current freedom."
"What does this have to do with Straff?" Philen snapped.
"Everything," Elend said. "For, though the S1urvivor is gone, his legacy
remains. Specifically, in the form of his apprentice." Elend nodded toward
Vin. "She is the most powerful Mistborn alive—something Straff now
knows for himself. Gentlemen, I know my father's temperament. He will
not attack this city while he fears retribution from a source he cannot stop.
He now realizes that if he attacks, he will incur the wrath of the Survivor's
heir—a wrath not even the Lord Ruler himself could withstand."
Elend fell silent, listening to the whispered conversations move through
the crowd. News of what he'd just said would reach the populace, and bring
them strength. Perhaps, even, news would reach Straff's army through the
spies Elend knew must be in the audience. He'd noticed his father's
Allomancer sitting in the crowd, the one named Zane.
And when news reached Straff's army, the men there might think twice
about obeying any orders to attack. Who would want to face the very force
that had destroyed the Lord Ruler? It was a weak hope—the men of Straff's
army probably didn't believe all of the stories out of Luthadel—but every
little bit of weakened morale would help.
It also wouldn't hurt for Elend to associate himself a little more strongly
with the Survivor. He was just going to have to get over his insecurity;
Kelsier had been a great man, but he was gone. Elend would just have to do
his best to see that the Survivor's legacy lived on.
For that was what would be best for his people.
Vin sat with a twisted stomach, listening to Elend's speech.
"You okay with this?" Ham whispered, leaning over to her as Elend gave
a more detailed account of his visit with Straff.
Vin shrugged. "Whatever helps the kingdom."
"You were never comfortable with the way that Kell set himself up with
the skaa—none of us were."
"It's what Elend needs," Vin said.
Tindwyl, who sat just before them, turned and gave her a flat look. Vin
expected some recrimination for whispering during the Assembly
proceedings, but apparently the Terriswoman had a different kind of
castigation in mind.
"The king—" She still referred to Elend that way. "—needs this link with
the Survivor. Elend has very little of his own authority to rely upon, and
Kelsier is currently the most well loved, most celebrated man in the Central
Dominance. By implying that the government was founded by the Survivor,
the king will make the people think twice about meddling with it."
Ham nodded thoughtfully. Vin glanced downward, however. What's the
problem? Just earlier, I was beginning to wonder if I were the Hero of Ages,
and now I'm worried about the notoriety Elend is giving me?
She sat uncomfortably, burning bronze, feeling the pulsing from far
away. It was growing even louder. . ..
Stop it! she told herself. Sazed doesn't think the Hero would return, and
he knows the histories better than anyone. It was foolish, anyway. I need to
focus on what's happening here.
After all, Zane was in the audience.
Vin sought out his face near the back of the room, a light burn of tin—not
enough to blind her—letting her study his features. He wasn't looking at
her, but watching the Assembly. Was he working at Straff's command, or
was this visit his own? Straff and Cett both undoubtedly had spies in the
audience—and, of course, Ham had guards mixed with the people as well1.
Zane unnerved her, however. Why didn't he turn toward her? Wasn't—
Zane met her eyes. He smiled slightly, then turned back to his study of
Elend.
Vin felt a shiver despite herself. So, did this mean he wasn't avoiding
her? Focus! She told herself. You need to pay attention to what Elend is
saying.
He was almost done, however. He wrapped up his speech with a few
comments on how he thought they could keep Straff off-balance. Again, he
couldn't be too detailed—not without giving away secrets. He glanced at the
large clock in the corner; done three minutes early, he moved to leave the
lectern.
Lord Penrod cleared his throat. "Elend, aren't you forgetting something?"
Elend hesitated, then looked back at the Assembly. "What is it that you
all want me to say?"
"Don't you have a reaction?" one of the skaa workers said. "About. .
.what happened at the last meeting?"
"You received my missive," Elend said. "You know how I feel about the
matter. However, this public forum is not a place for accusations or
denunciations. The Assembly is too noble a body for that kind of thing. I
wish that a time of danger were not when the Assembly had chosen to voice
its concerns, but we cannot alter what has happened."
He moved to sit again.
"That's it?" asked one of the skaa. "You're not even going to argue for
yourself, try and persuade us to reinstate you?"
Elend paused again. "No," he said. "No, I don't think that I will. You have
made your opinions known to me, and I am disappointed. However, you are
the representatives chosen by the people. I believe in the power that you
have been given.
"If you have questions, or challenges, I will be happy to defend myself.
However, I am not going to stand and preach my virtues. You all know me.
You know what I can do, and what I intend to do, for this city and the
surrounding populace. Let that stand as my argument."
He returned to his seat. Vin could see hints of a frown on Tindwyl's face.
Elend hadn't given the speech that she and he had prepared, a speech giving
the very arguments the Assembly was obviously expecting.
Why the change? Vin wondered. Tindwyl obviously didn't think it was a
good idea. And yet, oddly, Vin found herself trusting Elend's instincts more
than she did Tindwyl's.
"Well," Lord Penrod said, approaching the lectern again. "Thank you for
that report, Lord Venture. I'm not certain if we have other items of business.
. .."
"Lord Penrod?" Elend asked.
"Yes?"
"Perhaps you should hold the nominations?"
Lord Penrod frowned.
"The nominations for king, Penrod," Philen snapped.
Vin paused, eyeing the merchant. He certainly seems up on things, she
noted.
"Yes," Elend said, eyeing Philen as well. "In order for the Assembly to
choose a new king, nominations must be held at least three days before the
actual voting. I suggest we hold the nominations now, so that we can hold
the vote as soon as possible. The city suffers each day it is without a
leader."
Elend paused, then smiled. "Unless, of course, you intend to let the
month lapse without choosing1 a new king. . .."
Good to confirm that he still wants the crown, Vin thought.
"Thank you, Lord Venture," Penrod said. "We'll do that now, then. . ..
And, how exactly do we proceed?"
"Each member of the Assembly may make one nomination, if he
wishes," Elend said. "So that we don't become overburdened with options, I
would recommend that we all exercise restraint—only choose someone that
you honestly and sincerely think would make the finest king. If you have a
nomination to make, you may stand and announce it to the rest of the
group."
Penrod nodded, returning to his seat. Almost as soon as he sat, however,
one of the skaa stood. "I nominate Lord Penrod."
Elend had to expect that, Vin thought. After nominating Penrod to be
chancellor. Why give such authority to the man that he knew would be his
greatest contender for the throne?
The answer was simple. Because Elend knew that Lord Penrod was the
best choice for chancellor. Sometimes, he's a little too honorable, Vin
thought, not for the first time. She turned to study the skaa Assemblyman
who had nominated Penrod. Why were the skaa so quick to unify behind a
nobleman?
She suspected that it was still too soon. The skaa were accustomed to
being led by noblemen, and even with their freedom, they were traditional
beings—more traditional, even, than the noblemen. A lord like Penrod—
calm, commanding—seemed inherently better suited to the title of king than
a skaa.
They'll have to get over that, eventually, Vin thought. At least, they will if
they're ever going to be the people that Elend wants them to be.
The room remained quiet, no other nominations being made. A few
people coughed in the audience, even the whispers now dead. Finally, Lord
Penrod himself stood.
"I nominate Elend Venture," he said.
"Ah. . ." someone whispered behind her.
Vin turned, glancing at Breeze. "What?" she whispered.
"Brilliant," Breeze said. "Don't you see? Penrod is an honorable man. Or,
at least, as honorable as noblemen get—which means that he insists on
being seen as honorable. Elend nominated Penrod for chancellor. . .."
Hoping, in turn, that Penrod would feel obligated to nominate Elend for
king, Vin realized. She glanced at Elend, noting a slight smile on his lips.
Had he really crafted the exchange? It seemed a move subtle enough for
Breeze himself.
Breeze shook his head appreciatively. "Not only did Elend not have to
nominate himself—which would have made him look desperate—but now
everyone on the Assembly thinks that the man they respect, the man they
would probably choose as king, would rather have Elend hold the title.
Brilliant."
Penrod sat, and the room remained quiet. Vin suspected that he also had
made the nomination so that he wouldn't go uncontested to the throne. The
entire Assembly probably thought that Elend deserved a chance to reclaim
his place; Penrod was just the one who was honorable enough to voice the
feeling.
But, what about the merchants? Vin thought. They've got to have their
own plan. Elend thought that it was probably Philen who had organized the
vote against him. They'd want to put one of their own on the throne, one
who could open the city gates to whichever of the kings was manipulating
them—1or whichever one paid the best.
She studied the group of eight men, in their suits that seemed—somehow
—even more fine than those of the noblemen. They all seemed to be
waiting on the whims of a single man. What was Philen planning?
One of the merchants moved as if to stand, but Philen shot him a harsh
glance. The merchant did not rise. Philen sat quietly, a nobleman's dueling
cane across his lap. Finally, when most of the room had noticed the
merchant's focus on him, he slowly rose to his feet.
"I have a nomination of my own," he said.
There was a snort from the skaa section. "Now who's being
melodramatic, Philen?" one of the Assemblymen there said. "Just go ahead
and do it—nominate yourself."
Philen raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I'm not going to nominate myself."
Vin frowned, and she saw confusion in Elend's eyes.
"Though I appreciate the sentiment," Philen continued, "I am but a
simple merchant. No, I think that the title of king should go to someone
whose skills are a little more specialized. Tell me, Lord Venture, must our
nominations be for people on the Assembly?"
"No," Elend said. "The king doesn't have to be an Assemblyman—I
accepted this position after the fact. The king's primary duty is that of
creating, then enforcing, the law. The Assembly is only an advisory council
with some measure of counterbalancing power. The king himself can be
anyone—actually, the title was intended to be hereditary. I didn't expect. .
.certain clauses to be invoked quite so quickly."
"Ah, yes," Philen said. "Well, then. I think the title should go to someone
who has a little practice with it. Someone who has shown skill with
leadership. Therefore, I nominate Lord Ashweather Cett to be our king!"
What? Vin thought with shock as Philen turned, gesturing toward the
audience. A man sitting there removed his skaa cloak, pulling down the
hood, revealing a suit and a face with a bristling beard.
"Oh dear. . ." Breeze said.
"It's actually him?" Vin asked incredulously as the whispers began in the
audience.
Breeze nodded. "Oh, that's him. Lord Cett himself." He paused, then
eyed her. "I think we might be in trouble."
I had never received much attention from my brethren; they thought that
my work and my interests were unsuitable to a Worldbringer. The couldn't
see how my work, studying nature instead of religion, benefited the people
of the fourteen lands.
32
VIN SAT QUIETLY, TENSELY, SCANNING the crowd. Cett wouldn't
have come alone, she thought.
And then she saw them, now that she knew what she was looking for.
Soldiers in the crowd, dressed like skaa, forming a small protective buffer
around Cett's seat. The king did not rise, though a young man at his side
did.
Maybe thirty guards, Vin thought. He may not be foolish enough to come
alone. . .but entering the very city you're besieging? It was a bold move—
one that bordered on stupidity. Of course, many had said the same about
Elend's visit to Straff's army.
But Cett wasn't in the same position as Elend. He wasn't desperate, wasn't
in danger of losing everything. Except. . .he had a sma1ller army than
Straff, and the koloss were coming. And if Straff did secure the supposed
atium supply, Cett's days as leader in the West would certainly be
numbered. Coming into Luthadel might not have been an act of desperation,
but it also wasn't the act of a man who held the upper hand. Cett was
gambling.
And he seemed to be enjoying it.
Cett smiled as the room waited in silence, Assemblymen and audience
alike too shocked to speak. Finally, Cett waved to a few of his disguised
soldiers, and the men picked up Cett's chair and carried it to the stage.
Assemblymen whispered and commented, turning to aides or companions,
seeking confirmation of Cett's identity. Most of the noblemen sat quietly—
which should have been enough of a confirmation, in Vin's mind.
"He's not what I expected," Vin whispered to Breeze as the soldiers
climbed up on the dais.
"Nobody told you he was crippled?" Breeze asked.
"Not just that," Vin said. "He's not wearing a suit." He had on a pair of
trousers and a shirt, but instead of a nobleman's suit coat, he was wearing a
worn black jacket. "Plus, that beard. He couldn't have grown a beast like
that in one year—he must have had it before the Collapse."
"You only knew noblemen in Luthadel, Vin," Ham said. "The Final
Empire was a big place, with a lot of different societies. Not everybody
dresses like they do here."
Breeze nodded. "Cett was the most powerful nobleman in his area, so he
needn't worry about tradition and propriety. He did what he wished, and the
local nobility pandered. There were a hundred different courts with a
hundred different little 'Lord Rulers' in the empire, each region having its
own political dynamic."
Vin turned back to the stage front. Cett sat in his chair, having yet to
speak. Finally, Lord Penrod stood. "This is most unexpected, Lord Cett."
"Good!" Cett said. "That was, after all, the point!"
"Do you wish to address the Assembly?"
"I thought I already was."
Penrod cleared his throat, and Vin's tin-enhanced ears heard a disparaging
mutter from the noblemen's section regarding "Western noblemen."
"You have ten minutes, Lord Cett," Penrod said, sitting.
"Good," Cett said. "Because—unlike the boy over there—I intend to tell
you exactly why you should make me king."
"And that is?" one of the merchant Assemblymen asked.
"Because I've got an army on your damn doorstep!" Cett said with a
laugh.
The Assembly looked taken aback.
"A threat, Cett?" Elend asked calmly.
"No, Venture," Cett replied. "Just honesty—something you Central
noblemen seem to avoid at all cost. A threat is only a promise turned
around. What was it you told these people? That your mistress had her knife
at Straff's throat? So, were you implying that if you weren't elected, you'd
have your Mistborn withdraw, and let the city be destroyed?"
Elend flushed. "Of course not."
"Of course not," Cett repeated. He had a loud voice—unapologetic,
forceful. "Well, I don't pretend, and I don't hide. My army is here, and my
intention is to take this city. However, I'd much rather that you just give it to
me."
"You, sir, are a tyrant," Penrod said flatly.
"So?" Cett asked. "I'm a tyrant with forty thousand soldiers. That's twice
what you've got guarding these walls."
"What's to stop us from simply taking you hostage?" asked one of the
other noblemen. "You seem to have delivered yourself to us quite neatly."
Cett bellowed a laugh. "If I don't return to my camp this evening, my
army has orders to attack and raze the city immediately—no matter what!
They'll probably get destroyed by Venture afterward—but it won't matter to
me, or to you, at that point! We'll all be dead."
The room fell silent.
"See, Venture?" Cett asked. "Threats work wonderfully."
"You honestly expect us to make you our king?" Elend asked.
"Actually, I do," Cett said. "Look, with your twenty thousand added to
my forty, we could easily hold these walls against Straff—we could even
stop that army of koloss."
Whispers began immediately, and Cett raised a bushy eyebrow, turning to
Elend. "You didn't tell them about the koloss, did you?"
Elend didn't respond.
"Well, they'll know soon enough," Cett said. "Regardless, I don't see that
you have any other option but to elect me."
"You're not an honorable man," Elend said simply. "The people expect
more from their leaders."
"I'm not an honorable man?" Cett asked with amusement. "And you are?
Let me ask you a direct question, Venture. During the proceedings of this
meeting, have any of your Allomancers over there been Soothing members
of the Assembly?"
Elend paused. His eyes glanced to the side, finding Breeze. Vin closed
her eyes. No, Elend, don't—
"Yes, they have," Elend admitted.
Vin heard Tindwyl groan quietly.
"And," Cett continued, "can you honestly say that you've never doubted
yourself? Never wondered if you were a good king?"
"I think every leader wonders these things," Elend said.
"Well, I haven't," Cett said. "I've always known I was meant to be in
charge—and I've always done the best job of making certain that I stayed in
power. I know how to make myself strong, and that means I know how to
make those who associate with me strong as well.
"Here's the deal. You give me the crown, and I'll take charge here. You all
get to keep your titles—and those of the Assembly who don't have titles
will get them. In addition, you'll get to keep your heads—which is a far
better deal than Straff would offer, I assure you.
"The people get to keep working, and I'll make certain that they're fed
this winter. Everything goes back to normal, the way it was before this
insanity began a year back. The skaa work, the nobility administrates."
"You think they'd go back to that?" Elend asked. "After all we fought for,
you think I will simply let you force the people back into slavery?"
Cett smiled beneath his large beard. "I wasn't under the impression that
the decision was yours, Elend Venture."
Elend fell silent.
"I want to meet with each of you," Cett said to the As1semblymen. "If
you'll allow, I wish to move into Luthadel with some of my men. Say, a
force of five thousand—enough to make me feel safe, but not to be of any
real danger to you. I'll take up residence in one of the abandoned keeps, and
wait until your decision next week. During that time, I'll meet with each of
you in turn and explain the. . .benefits that would come from choosing me
as your king."
"Bribes," Elend spat.
"Of course," Cett said. "Bribes for all of the people of this city—the
foremost bribe being that of peace! You're so fond of name-calling, Venture.
'Slaves,' 'threats,' 'honorable.' 'Bribe' is just a word. Looked at another way,
a bribe is just a promise, turned on its head." Cett smiled.
The group of Assemblymen was silent. "Shall we vote, then, on whether
to let him enter the city?" Penrod asked.
"Five thousand is way too many," one of the skaa Assemblymen said.
"Agreed," Elend said. "There's no way we can let that many foreign
troops into Luthadel."
"I don't like it at all," another said.
"What?" said Philen. "A monarch inside our city will be less dangerous
than one outside, wouldn't you say? And besides, Cett has promised us all
titles."
This gave the group something to think about.
"Why not just give me the crown now?" Cett said. "Open your gates to
my army."
"You can't," Elend said immediately. "Not until there is a king—or unless
you can get a unanimous vote right now."
Vin smiled. Unanimous wouldn't happen in that case as long as Elend
was on the Assembly.
"Bah," Cett said, but he obviously was smooth enough not to insult the
legislative body further. "Let me take up residence in the city, then."
Penrod nodded. "All in favor of allowing Lord Cett to take up residence
inside with. . .say. . .a thousand troops?"
A full nineteen of the Assemblymen raised their hands. Elend was not
one of them.
"It is done, then," Penrod said. "We adjourn for two weeks."
This can't be happening, Elend thought. I thought maybe Penrod would
provide a challenge, Philen a lesser one. But. . .one of the very tyrants who
is threatening the city? How could they? How could they even consider his
suggestion?
Elend stood, catching Penrod's arm as he turned to walk off the dais.
"Ferson," Elend said quietly, "this is insanity."
"We have to consider the option, Elend."
"Consider selling out the people of this city to a tyrant?"
Penrod's face grew cold, and he shook Elend's arm free. "Listen, lad," he
said quietly. "You are a good man, but you've always been an idealist.
You've spent time in books and philosophy—I've spent my life fighting
politics with the members of the court. You know theories; I know people."
He turned, nodding to the audience. "Look at them, lad. They're terrified.
What good do your dreams do them when they're starving? You talk of
freedom and justice when two armies are preparing to slaughter their
families."
Penrod turned back to Elend, staring him in the eyes. "The Lord Ruler's
system wasn't perfect, but it kept these people safe. We don't even have
t1hat anymore. Your ideals can't face down armies. Cett might be a tyrant,
but given the choice between him and Straff, I'd have to choose Cett. We'd
probably have given him the city weeks ago, if you hadn't stopped us."
Penrod nodded to Elend, then turned and joined a few of the noblemen
who were leaving. Elend stood quietly for a moment.
We have seen a curious phenomenon associated with rebel groups that
break off of the Final Empire and attempt to seek autonomy, he thought,
recalling a passage from Ytves's book Studies in Revolution. In almost all
cases, the Lord Ruler didn't need to send his armies to reconquer the rebels.
By the time his agents arrived, the groups had overthrown themselves.
It seems that the rebels found the chaos of transition more difficult to
accept than the tyranny they had known before. They joyfully welcomed
back authority—even oppressive authority—for it was less painful for them
than uncertainty.
Vin and the others joined him on the stage, and he put his arm around her
shoulders, standing quietly as he watched people trail from the building.
Cett sat surrounded by a small group of Assemblymen, arranging meetings
with them.
"Well," Vin said quietly. "We know he's Mistborn."
Elend turned toward her. "You sensed Allomancy from him?"
Vin shook her head. "No."
"Then, how do you know?" Elend asked.
"Well, look at him," Vin said with a wave of her hand. "He acts like he
can't walk—that has to be covering up something. What would be more
innocent than a cripple? Can you think of a better way to hide the fact that
you're a Mistborn?"
"Vin, my dear," Breeze said, "Cett has been crippled since childhood,
when a disease rendered his legs useless. He's not Mistborn."
Vin raised an eyebrow. "That has to be one of the best cover stories I've
ever heard."
Breeze rolled his eyes, but Elend just smiled.
"What now, Elend?" Ham asked. "We obviously can't deal with things the
same way now that Cett has entered the city."
Elend nodded. "We have to plan. Let's. . ." He trailed off as a young man
left Cett's group, walking toward Elend. It was the same man who had been
sitting next to Cett.
"Cett's son," Breeze whispered. "Gneorndin."
"Lord Venture," Gneorndin said, bowing slightly. He was, perhaps, about
Spook's age. "My father wishes to know when you would like to meet with
him."
Elend raised an eyebrow. "I have no intention of joining the line of
Assemblymen waiting upon Cett's bribes, lad. Tell your father that he and I
have nothing to discuss."
"You don't?" Gneorndin asked. "And what about my sister? The one you
kidnapped?"
Elend frowned. "You know that isn't true."
"My father would still like to discuss the event," Gneorndin said,
shooting a hostile glance at Breeze. "Besides, he thinks that a conversation
between you two might be in the city's best interests. You met with Straff in
his camp—don't tell me that you aren't willing to do the same for Cett
inside your own city?"
Elend paused. Forget your biases, he told himself. You need to talk to this
man, if only for the information the meeti1ng might provide.
"All right," Elend said. "I'll meet with him."
"Dinner, in one week?" Gneorndin asked.
Elend nodded curtly.
As the one who found Alendi, however, I became someone important.
Foremost among the Worldbringers.
33
VIN LAY ON HER STOMACH, arms folded, head resting on them as
she studied a sheet of paper on the floor in front of her. Considering the last
few days of chaos, it was surprising to her that she found returning to her
studies to be a relief.
A small one, however, for her studies held their own problems. The
Deepness has returned, she thought. Even if the mists only kill infrequently,
they've begun to turn hostile again. That means the Hero of Ages needs to
come again too, doesn't it?
Did she honestly think that might be her? It sounded ridiculous, when she
considered it. Yet, she heard the thumping in her head, saw the spirit in the
mists. . ..
And what of that night, over a year gone, when she'd confronted the Lord
Ruler? That night when somehow, she'd drawn the mists into herself,
burning them as if they were metal?
That's not enough, she told herself. One freak event—one I've never been
able to replicate—doesn't mean I'm some mythological savior. She didn't
even really know most of the prophecies about the Hero. The logbook
mentioned that he was supposed to come from humble origins—but that
pretty much described every skaa in the Final Empire. He was supposed to
have hidden royal bloodlines, but that made every half-breed in the city a
candidate. In fact, she'd be willing to bet that most skaa had one or another
hidden nobleman progenitor.
She sighed, shaking her head.
"Mistress?" OreSeur asked, turning. He stood on a chair, his forepaws up
against the window as he looked out at the city.
"Prophecies, legends, foretellings," Vin said, slapping her hand down on
her sheet of notes. "What's the point? Why did the Terris even believe in
these things? Shouldn't a religion teach something practical?"
OreSeur settled down on his haunches upon the chair. "What would be
more practical than gaining knowledge of the future?"
"If these actually said something useful, I'd agree. But even the logbook
acknowledges that the Terris prophecies could be understood many
different ways. What good are promises that could be interpreted so
liberally?"
"Do not dismiss someone's beliefs because you do not understand them,
Mistress."
Vin snorted. "You sound like Sazed. A part of me is tempted to think that
all these prophecies and legends were devised by priests who wanted to
make a living."
"Only a part of you?" OreSeur asked, sounding amused.
Vin paused, then nodded. "The part that grew up on the streets, the part
that always expects a scam." That part didn't want to acknowledge the other
things she felt.
The thumpings were getting stronger and stronger.
"Prophecies do not have to be a scam, Mistress," OreSeur said. "Or even,
really, a promise for the future. They can simply be an expression of hope."
"What do you know of such things?" Vin said dismissively, setting aside
her sheet.
There was a moment of silence. "Nothing, of course, Mistress," OreSeur
eventually said.
Vin turned toward the dog. "I'm sorry, OreSeur. I didn't mean. . .Well, I've
just been feeling distracted lately."
Thump. Thump. Thump. . ..
"You need not apologize to me, Mistress," OreSeur said. "I am only
kandra."
"Still a person," Vin said. "If one with dog breath."
OreSeur smiled. "You chose these bones for me, Mistress. You must deal
with the consequences."
"The bones might have something to do with it," Vin said, rising. "But I
don't think that carrion you eat is helping. Honestly, we have to get you
some mint leaves to chew."
OreSeur raised a canine eyebrow. "And you don't think a dog with sweet
breath would attract attention?"
"Only from anyone you happen to kiss in the near future," Vin said,
returning her stacks of paper to her desk.
OreSeur chuckled softly in his canine way, turning back to study the city.
"Is the procession finished yet?" Vin asked.
"Yes, Mistress," OreSeur said. "It is difficult to see, even from a height.
But, it does look like Lord Cett has finished moving in. He certainly did
bring a lot of carts."
"He's Allrianne's father," Vin said. "Despite how much that girl
complains about accommodations in the army, I'd bet that Cett likes to
travel in comfort."
OreSeur nodded. Vin turned, leaning against the desk, watching him and
thinking of what he'd said earlier. Expression of hope. . ..
"The kandra have a religion, don't they?" Vin guessed.
OreSeur turned sharply. That was enough of a confirmation.
"Do the Keepers know of it?" Vin asked.
OreSeur stood on his hind legs, paws against the windowsill. "I should
not have spoken."
"You needn't be afraid," Vin said. "I won't give away your secret. But, I
don't see why it has to be secret anymore."
"It is a kandra thing, Mistress," OreSeur said. "It wouldn't be of any
interest to anyone else."
"Of course it would," Vin said. "Don't you see, OreSeur? The Keepers
believe that the last independent religion was destroyed by the Lord Ruler
centuries ago. If the kandra managed to keep one, that suggests that the
Lord Ruler's theological control of the Final Empire wasn't absolute. That
has to mean something."
OreSeur paused, cocking his head, as if he hadn't considered such things.
His theological control wasn't absolute? Vin thought, a bit surprised at
the words. Lord Ruler—I'm starting to sound like Sazed and Elend. I've
been studying too much lately.
"Regardless, Mistress," OreSeur said. "I'd rather you didn't mention this
to your Keeper friends. They would probably begin asking discomforting
questions."
"They're like that," Vin said with a nod. "What is it your people have
prophecies about, anyway?"
"I don't think you want to1 know, Mistress."
Vin smiled. "They talk about overthrowing us, don't they?"
OreSeur sat down, and she could almost see a flush on his canine face.
"My. . .people have dealt with the Contract for a great long time, Mistress. I
know it is difficult for you to understand why we would live under this
burden, but we find it necessary. Yet, we do dream of a day when it may not
be."
"When all the humans are subject to you?" Vin asked.
OreSeur looked away. "When they're all dead, actually."
"Wow."
"The prophecies are not literal, Mistress," OreSeur said. "They're
metaphors—expressions of hope. Or, at least, that is how I have always
seen them. Perhaps your Terris prophecies are the same? Expressions of a
belief that if the people were in danger, their gods would send a Hero to
protect them? In this case, the vagueness would be intentional—and
rational. The prophecies were never meant to mean someone specific, but
more to speak of a general feeling. A general hope."
If the prophecies weren't specific, why could only she sense the
drumming beats?
Stop it, she told herself. You're jumping to conclusions. "All the humans
dead," she said. "How do we die off? The kandra kill us?"
"Of course not," OreSeur said. "We honor our Contract, even in religion.
The stories say that you'll kill yourselves off. You're of Ruin, after all, while
the kandra are of Preservation. You're. . .actually supposed to destroy the
world, I believe. Using the koloss as your pawns."
"You actually sound sorry for them," Vin noted with amusement.
"The kandra actually tend to think well of the koloss, Mistress," OreSeur
said. "There is a bond between us; we both understand what it is to be
slaves, we both are outsiders to the culture of the Final Empire, we both—"
He paused.
"What?" Vin asked.
"Might I speak no further?" OreSeur asked. "I have said too much
already. You put me off balance, Mistress."
Vin shrugged. "We all need secrets." She glanced toward the door.
"Though there's one I still need to figure out."
OreSeur hopped down from his chair, joining her as she strode out the
door.
There was still a spy somewhere in the palace. She'd been forced to
ignore that fact for far too long.
Elend looked deeply into the well. The dark pit—widemouthed to
accommodate the comings and goings of numerous skaa—seemed a large
mouth opening up, stone lips spread and preparing to swallow him down.
Elend glanced to the side, where Ham stood speaking with a group of
healers.
"We first noticed when so many people came to us complaining of
diarrhea and abdominal pains," the healer said. "The symptoms were
unusually strong, my lord. We've. . .already lost several to the malady."
Ham glanced at Elend, frowning.
"Everyone who grew sick lived in this area," the healer continued. "And
drew their water from this well or another in the next square."
"Have you brought this to the attention of Lord Penrod and the
Assembly?" Elend asked.
"Um, no, my lord. We figured that you. . ."
I'm not king anymore, Elend thought. However, he couldn't say the
words. Not to this man, looking for help.
"I'll take care of it," Elend said, sighing. "You may return to your
patients."
"They are filling our clinic, my lord," he said.
"Then appropriate one of the empty noble mansions," Elend said. "There
are plenty of those. Ham, send him with some of my guard to help move the
sick and prepare the building."
Ham nodded, waving over a soldier, telling him to gather twenty on-duty
men from the palace to meet with the healer. The healer smiled, looking
relieved, and bowed to Elend as he left.
Ham walked up, joining Elend beside the well. "Coincidence?"
"Hardly," Elend said, gripping the edge if the well with frustrated fingers.
"The question is, which one poisoned it?"
"Cett just came into the city," Ham said, rubbing his chin. "Would have
been easy to send out some soldiers to covertly drop in the poison."
"Seems more like something my father would do," Elend said.
"Something to increase our tension, to get back at us for playing him for a
fool in his camp. Plus, he's got that Mistborn who could have easily placed
the poison."
Of course, Cett had had this same thing happen to him—Breeze
poisoning his water supply back before he reached the city. Elend ground
his teeth. There was really no way to know which one was behind the
attack.
Either way, the poisoned wells meant trouble. There were others in the
city, of course, but they were just as vulnerable. The people might have to
start relying on the river for their water, and it was far less healthy, its
waters muddy and polluted by waste from both the army camps and the city
itself.
"Set guards around these wells," Elend said, waving a hand. "Board them
up, post warnings, and then tell the healers to watch with particular care for
other outbreaks."
We just keep getting wound tighter and tighter, he thought as Ham
nodded. At this rate, we'll snap long before winter ends.
After a detour for a late dinner—where some talk about servants getting
sick left her concerned—Vin went in and checked on Elend, who had just
returned from walking the city with Ham. After that, Vin and OreSeur
continued their original quest: that of finding Dockson.
They located him in the palace library. The room had once been Straff's
personal study; Elend seemed to find the room's new purpose amusing for
some reason.
Personally, Vin didn't find the library's location nearly as amusing as its
contents. Or, rather, lack thereof. Though the room was lined with shelves,
nearly all of them showed signs of having been pillaged by Elend. The rows
of books lay pocked by forlorn empty spots, their companions taken away
one by one, as if Elend were a predator, slowly whittling down a herd.
Vin smiled. It probably wouldn't be too long before Elend had stolen
every book in the small library, carrying the tomes up to his study, then
forgetfully placing them in one of his piles—ostensibly for return. Still,
there were a large number of volumes left—ledgers, books of figures, and
notebooks on finances; things that Elend usually found of little interest.
Dockson sat at the library's desk now, writing in a ledger. He noticed her
arrival, and glanced over with a smile, but t1hen turned back to his
notations—apparently not wanting to lose his place. Vin waited for him to
finish, OreSeur at her side.
Of all the members of the crew, Dockson seemed to have changed the
most during the last year. She remembered her first impressions of him,
back in Camon's lair. Dockson had been Kelsier's right-hand man, and the
more "realistic" of the pair. And yet, there had always been an edge of
humor to Dockson—a sense that he enjoyed his role as the straight man. He
hadn't foiled Kelsier so much as complemented him.
Kelsier was dead. Where did that leave Dockson? He wore a nobleman's
suit, as he always had—and of all the crewmembers, the suits seemed to fit
him the best. If he shaved off the half beard, he could pass for a nobleman
—not a rich high courtier, but a lord in early middle age who had lived his
entire life trading goods beneath a great house master.
He wrote in his ledgers, but he had always done that. He still played the
role of the responsible one in the crew. So, what was different? He was the
same person, did the same things. He just felt different. The laughter was
gone; the quiet enjoyment of the eccentricity in those around him. Without
Kelsier, Dockson had somehow changed from temperate to. . .boring.
And that was what made her suspicious.
This has to be done, she thought, smiling at Dockson as he set down his
pen and waved her to take a seat.
Vin sat down, OreSeur padding over to stand beside her chair. Dockson
eyed the dog, shaking his head slightly. "That's such a remarkably welltrained beast, Vin," he said. "I don't think I've ever seen one quite like it. .
.."
Does he know? Vin wondered with alarm. Would one kandra be able to
recognize another in a dog's body? No, that couldn't be. Otherwise OreSeur
could find the impostor for her. So, she simply smiled again, patting
OreSeur's head. "There is a trainer in the market. He teaches wolfhounds to
be protective—to stay with young children and keep them out of danger."
Dockson nodded. "So, any purpose to this visit?"
Vin shrugged. "We never chat anymore, Dox."
Dockson sat back in his chair. "This might not be the best time for
chatting. I have to prepare the royal finances to be taken over by someone
else, should the vote go against Elend."
Would a kandra be able to do the ledgers? Vin wondered. Yes. They'd
have known—they'd have been prepared.
"I'm sorry," Vin said. "I don't mean to bother you, but Elend has been so
busy lately, and Sazed has his project. . .."
"It's all right," Dockson said. "I can spare a few minutes. What's on your
mind?"
"Well, do you remember that conversation we had, back before the
Collapse?"
Dockson frowned. "Which one?"
"You know. . .. The one about your childhood."
"Oh," Dockson said, nodding. "Yes, what about it?"
"Well, do you still think the same way?"
Dockson paused thoughtfully, fingers slowly tapping on the desktop. Vin
waited, trying not to show her tension. The conversation in question had
been between the two of them, and during it, Dockson had first spoken to
her of how much he'd hated the nobility.
"I suppose I don't," Dockson1 said. "Not anymore. Kell always said that
you gave the nobility too much credit, Vin. But you started to change even
him there at the end. No, I don't think that noble society needs to be
completely destroyed. They aren't all monsters as once presumed."
Vin relaxed. He not only knew the conversation, he knew the details of
the tangents they'd discussed. She had been the only one there with him.
That had to mean that he wasn't the kandra, right?
"This is about Elend, isn't it?" Dockson asked.
Vin shrugged. "I suppose."
"I know that you wish he and I could get along better, Vin. But, all things
considered, I think we're doing pretty well. He is a decent man; I can
acknowledge that. He has some faults as a leader: he lacks boldness, lacks
presence."
Not like Kelsier.
"But," Dockson continued, "I don't want to see him lose his throne. He
has treated the skaa fairly, for a nobleman."
"He's a good person, Dox," Vin said quietly.
Dockson looked away. "I know that. But. . .well, every time I talk to him,
I see Kelsier standing over his shoulder, shaking his head at me. Do you
know how long Kell and I dreamed of toppling the Lord Ruler? The other
crewmembers, they thought Kelsier's plan was a newfound passion—
something that came to him in the Pits. But it was older than that, Vin. Far
older.
"We always hated the nobility, Kell and I. When we were youths,
planning our first jobs, we wanted to be rich—but we also wanted to hurt
them. Hurt them for taking from us things they had no right to. My love. .
.Kelsier's mother. . .. Every coin we stole, every nobleman we left dead in
an alleyway—this was our way of waging war. Our way of punishing
them."
Vin sat quietly. It was these kinds of stories, these memories of a haunted
past, that had always made her just a little uncomfortable with Kelsier—and
with the person he had been training her to become. It was this sentiment
that gave her pause, even when her instincts whispered that she should go
and exact retribution on Straff and Cett with knives in the night.
Dockson held some of that same hardness. Kell and Dox weren't evil
men, but there was an edge of vengefulness to them. Oppression had
changed them in ways that no amount of peace, reformation, or recompense
could redeem.
Dockson shook his head. "And we put one of them on the throne. I can't
help but think that Kell would be angry with me for letting Elend rule, no
matter how good a man he is."
"Kelsier changed at the end," Vin said quietly. "You said it yourself, Dox.
Did you know that he saved Elend's life?"
Dockson turned, frowning. "When?"
"On that last day," Vin said. "During the fight with the Inquisitor. Kell
protected Elend, who came looking for me."
"Must have thought he was one of the prisoners."
Vin shook her head. "He knew who Elend was, and knew that I loved
him. In the end, Kelsier was willing to admit that a good man was worth
protecting, no matter who his parents were."
"I find that hard to accept, Vin."
"Why?"
Dockson met her eyes. "Because if I accept that Elend bears no guilt for
what his people did to mine, then I must admit to being a monster for the
things that I did to t1hem."
Vin shivered. In those eyes, she saw the truth behind Dockson's
transformation. She saw the death of his laughter. She saw the guilt. The
murders.
This man is no impostor.
"I can find little joy in this government, Vin," Dockson said quietly.
"Because I know what we did to create it. The thing is, I'd do it all again. I
tell myself it's because I believe in skaa freedom. I still lie awake at nights,
however, quietly satisfied for what we've done to our former rulers. Their
society undermined, their god dead. Now they know."
Vin nodded. Dockson looked down, as if ashamed, an emotion she'd
rarely seen in him. There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Dockson
sat quietly as she withdrew, his pen and ledger forgotten on the desktop.
"It's not him," Vin said, walking down an empty palace hallway, trying to
shake the haunting sound of Dockson's voice from her mind.
"You are certain, Mistress?" OreSeur asked.
Vin nodded. "He knew about a private conversation that Dockson and I
had before the Collapse."
OreSeur was silent for a moment. "Mistress," he finally said, "my
brethren can be very thorough."
"Yes, but how could he have known about such an event?"
"We often interview people before we take their bones, Mistress,"
OreSeur explained. "We'll meet them several times, in different settings,
and find ways to talk about their lives. We'll also talk to their friends and
acquaintances. Did you ever tell anyone about this conversation you had
with Dockson?"
Vin stopped to lean against the side of the stone hallway. "Maybe Elend,"
she admitted. "I think I mentioned it to Sazed too, just after it happened.
That was almost two years ago."
"That could have been enough, Mistress," OreSeur said. "We cannot
learn everything about a person, but we try our best to discover items like
this—private conversations, secrets, confidential information—so that we
can mention them at appropriate times and reinforce our illusion."
Vin frowned.
"There are. . .other things as well, Mistress," OreSeur said. "I hesitate
because I do not wish you to imagine your friends in pain. However, it is
common for our master—the one who actually does the killing—to torture
their victim for information."
Vin closed her eyes. Dockson felt so real. . .his guilt, his reactions. . .that
couldn't be faked, could it?
"Damn," she whispered quietly, opening her eyes. She turned, sighing as
she pushed open the shutters of a hallway window. It was dark out, and the
mists curled before her as she leaned against the stone windowsill and
looked out at the courtyard two stories below.
"Dox isn't an Allomancer," she said. "How can I find out for certain if
he's the impostor or not?"
"I do not know, Mistress," OreSeur said. "This is never an easy task."
Vin stood quietly. Absently, she pulled out her bronze earring—her
mother's earring—and worked it between her fingers, watching it reflect
light. It had once been gilded with silver, but that had worn off in most
places.
"I hate this," she finally whispered.
"What, Mistress?"
"Thi1s. . .distrust," she said. "I hate being suspicious of my friends. I
thought I was through mistrusting those around me. I feel like a knife is
twisting inside of me, and it cuts deeper every time I confront one of the
crew."
OreSeur sat on his haunches beside her, and he cocked his head. "But,
Mistress. You've managed to eliminate several of them as impostors."
"Yes," Vin said. "But that only narrows the field—brings me one step
closer to knowing which one of them is dead."
"And that knowledge isn't a good thing?"
Vin shook her head. "I don't want it to be any of them, OreSeur. I don't
want to distrust them, don't want to find out that we're right. . .."
OreSeur didn't respond at first, leaving her to stare out the window, mists
slowly streaming to the floor around her.
"You are sincere," OreSeur finally said.
She turned. "Of course I am."
"I'm sorry, Mistress," OreSeur said. "I did not wish to be insulting. I just.
. .Well, I have been kandra to many masters. So many of them are
suspicious and hateful of everyone around them, I had begun to think that
your kind lacked the capacity for trust."
"That's silly," Vin said, turning back to the window.
"I know it is," OreSeur said. "But people often believe silly things, if
given enough proof. Either way, I apologize. I do not know which of your
friends is dead, but I am sorry that one of my kind brought you this pain."
"Whoever he is, he's just following his Contract."
"Yes, Mistress," OreSeur said. "The Contract."
Vin frowned. "Is there a way that you could find out which kandra has a
Contract in Luthadel?"
"I'm sorry, Mistress," OreSeur said. "That is not possible."
"I figured as much," she said. "Are you likely to know him, whoever he
is?"
"The kandra are a close-knit group, Mistress," OreSeur said. "And our
numbers are small. There is a good chance that I know him quite well."
Vin tapped her finger against the windowsill, frowning as she tried to
decide if the information was useful.
"I still don't think it's Dockson," she finally said, replacing the earring.
"We'll ignore him for now. If I can't get any other leads, we'll come back. .
." She trailed off as something caught her attention. A figure walking in the
courtyard, bearing no light.
Ham, she thought. But the walk wasn't right.
She Pushed on the shield of the lamp hanging on the wall a short distance
away. It snapped closed, the lamp shaking as the hallway fell into darkness.
"Mistress?" OreSeur asked as Vin climbed up into the window, flaring
her tin as she squinted into the night.
Definitely not Ham, she thought.
Her first thought was of Elend—a sudden terror that assassins had come
while she was talking to Dockson. But, it was early in the night, and Elend
would still be speaking with his counselors. It was an unlikely time for an
assassination.
And only one man? Not Zane, not judging from the height.
Probably just a guard, Vin thought1. Why do I have to be so paranoid all
the time?
And yet. . .she watched the figure walking into the courtyard, and her
instincts kicked in. He seemed to be moving suspiciously, as if he were
uncomfortable—as if he didn't want to be seen.
"In my arms," she said to OreSeur, tossing a padded coin out the window.
He hopped up obligingly, and she leaped out the window, fell twenty-five
feet, and landed with the coin. She released OreSeur and nodded into the
mists. He followed closely as she moved into the darkness, stooping and
hiding, trying to get a good look at the lone figure. The man walked briskly,
moving toward the side of the palace, where the servants' entrances were.
As he passed, she finally saw his face.
Captain Demoux? she thought.
She sat back, crouching with OreSeur beside a small stack of wooden
supply boxes. What did she really know of Demoux? He was one of the
skaa rebels recruited by Kelsier almost two years before. He'd taken to
command, and had been promoted quickly. He was one of the loyal men
who had stayed behind when the rest of the army had followed Yeden to
their doom.
After the Collapse, he'd stayed in with the crew, eventually becoming
Ham's second. He had received no small amount of training from Ham—
which might explain why he'd go out at night without a torch or lantern.
But, even so. . ..
If I were going to replace someone on the crew, Vin thought, I wouldn't
pick an Allomancer—that would make the impostor too easy to spot. I'd
pick someone ordinary, someone who wouldn't have to make decisions or
attract notice.
Someone close to the crew, but not necessarily on it. Someone who is
always near important meetings, but someone that others don't really know
that well. . ..
She felt a small thrill. If the impostor were Demoux, it would mean that
one of her good friends hadn't been killed. And it would mean that the
kandra's master was even smarter than she'd given him credit for being.
He rounded the keep, and she followed quietly. However, whatever he'd
been doing this night, it was already completed—for he moved in through
one of the entrances on the side of the building, greeting the guards posted
there to watch.
Vin sat back in the shadows. He'd spoken to the guards, so he hadn't
snuck out of the palace. And yet. . .she recognized the stooped posture, the
nervous movements. He'd been nervous about something.
That's him, she thought. The spy.
But now, what should she do about it?
There was a place for me, in the lore of the Anticipation—I thought
myself the Announcer, the prophet foretold to discover the Hero of Ages.
Renouncing Alendi then would have been to renounce my new position, my
acceptance, by the others.
And so I did not.
34
"THAT WON'T WORK," ELEND SAID, shaking his head. "We need a
unanimous decision—minus the person being ousted, of course—in order to
depose a member of the Assembly. We'd never manage to vote out all eight
merchants."
Ham looked a bit deflated. Elend knew that Ham liked to consider
himself a philosopher; indeed, Ham had a good mind for abstract thinking.
However, he wasn't a scho1lar. He liked to think up questions and answers,
but he didn't have experience studying a text in detail, searching out its
meaning and implications.
Elend glanced at Sazed, who sat with a book open on the table before
him. The Keeper had at least a dozen volumes stacked around him—
though, amusingly, his stacks were neatly arranged, spines pointing the
same direction, covers flush. Elend's own stacks were characteristically
haphazard, pages of notes sticking out at odd angles.
It was amazing how many books one could fit into a room, assuming one
didn't want to move around very much. Ham sat on the floor, a small pile of
books beside him, though he spent most of his time voicing one random
idea or another. Tindwyl had a chair, and did not study. The Terriswoman
found it perfectly acceptable to train Elend as a king; however, she refused
to research and give suggestions about keeping his throne. This seemed, in
her eyes, to cross some unseen line between being an educator and a
political force.
Good thing Sazed isn't like that, Elend thought. If he were, the Lord Ruler
might still be in charge. In fact, Vin and I would probably both be dead—
Sazed was the one who actually rescued her when she was imprisoned by
the Inquisitors. It wasn't me.
He didn't like to think about that event. His bungled attempt at rescuing
Vin now seemed a metaphor for all he had done wrong in his life. He'd
always been well-intentioned, but he'd rarely been able to deliver. That was
going to change.
"What about this, Your Majesty?" The one who spoke was the only other
person in the room, a scholar named Noorden. Elend tried to ignore the
intricate tattoos around the man's eyes, indications of Noorden's former life
as an obligator. He wore large spectacles to try to hide the tattoos, but he
had once been relatively well placed in the Steel Ministry. He could
renounce his beliefs, but the tattoos would always remain.
"What have you found?" Elend asked.
"Some information on Lord Cett, Your Majesty," Noorden said. "I found
it in one of the ledgers you took from the Lord Ruler's palace. It seems Cett
isn't as indifferent to Luthadel politics as he'd like us to think." Noorden
chuckled to himself at the thought.
Elend had never met a cheerful obligator before. Perhaps that was why
Noorden hadn't left the city like most of his kind; he certainly didn't seem to
fit into their ranks. He was only one of several men that Elend had been
able to find to act as scribes and bureaucrats in his new kingdom.
Elend scanned Noorden's page. Though the page was filled with numbers
rather than words, his scholar's mind easily parsed the information. Cett had
done a lot of trading with Luthadel. Most of his work had been done using
lesser houses as fronts. That might have fooled noblemen, but not the
obligators, who had to be informed of the terms of any deal.
Noorden passed the ledger over to Sazed, who scanned the numbers.
"So," Noorden said, "Lord Cett wanted to appear unconnected to
Luthadel—the beard and the attitude only serving to reinforce that
impression. Yet, he always had a very quiet hand in things here."
Elend nodded. "Maybe he realized that you can't avoid politics by
pretending you're not part of them. There's no way he would have been able
to grab as much power as he did without some solid political connections."
"So, what does this tell us?" Sazed asked.
"That Cett is far more accomplished a1t the game than he wants people
to believe," Elend said, standing, then stepping over a pile of books as he
made his way back to his chair. "But, I think that much was obvious by the
way he manipulated me and the Assembly yesterday."
Noorden chuckled. "You should have seen the way you all looked, Your
Majesty. When Cett revealed himself, a few of the noble Assemblymen
actually jumped in their seats! I think the rest of you were too shocked to
—"
"Noorden?" Elend said.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Please focus on the task at hand."
"Um, yes, Your Majesty."
"Sazed?" Elend asked. "What do you think?"
Sazed looked up from his book—a codified and annotated version of the
city's charter, as written by Elend himself. The Terrisman shook his head.
"You did a very good job with this, I think. I can see very few methods of
preventing Lord Cett's appointment, should the Assembly choose him."
"Too competent for your own good?" Noorden said.
"A problem which, unfortunately, I've rarely had," Elend said, sitting and
rubbing his eyes.
Is this how Vin feels all the time? he wondered. She got less sleep than
he, and she was always moving about, running, fighting, spying. Yet, she
always seemed fresh. Elend was beginning to droop after just a couple of
days of hard study.
Focus, he told himself. You have to know your enemies so that you can
fight them. There has to be a way out of this.
Dockson was still composing letters to the other Assemblymen. Elend
wanted to meet with those who were willing. Unfortunately, he had a
feeling that number would be small. They had voted him out, and now they
had been presented with an option that seemed an easy way out of their
problems.
"Your Majesty. . ." Noorden said slowly. "Do you think, maybe, that we
should just let Cett take the throne? I mean, how bad could he be?"
Elend stopped. One of the reasons he employed the former obligator was
because of Noorden's different view-point. He wasn't a skaa, nor was he a
high nobleman. He wasn't a thief. He was just a scholarly little man who
had joined the Ministry because it had offered an option other than
becoming a merchant.
To him, the Lord Ruler's death had been a catastrophe that had destroyed
his entire way of life. He wasn't a bad man, but he had no real
understanding of the plight of the skaa.
"What do you think of the laws I've made, Noorden?" Elend asked.
"They're brilliant, Your Majesty," Noorden said. "Keen representations of
the ideals spoken of by old philosophers, along with a strong element of
modern realism."
"Will Cett respect these laws?" Elend asked.
"I don't know. I haven't ever really met the man."
"What do your instincts tell you?"
Noorden hesitated. "No," he finally said. "He isn't the type of man who
rules by law. He just does what he wants."
"He would bring only chaos," Elend said. "Look at the information we
have from his homeland and the places he's conquered. They are in turmoil.
He's left a patchwork of half alliances and promises—threats of invasion
acting as the thread that—barely—holds it1 all together. Giving him rule of
Luthadel would just set us up for another collapse."
Noorden scratched his cheek, then nodded thoughtfully and turned back
to his reading.
I can convince him, Elend thought. If only I could do the same for the
Assemblymen.
But Noorden was a scholar; he thought the way Elend did. Logical facts
were enough for him, and a promise of stability was more powerful than
one of wealth. The Assembly was a different beast entirely. The noblemen
wanted a return to what they'd known before; the merchants saw an
opportunity to grab the titles they'd always envied; and the skaa were
simply worried about a brutal slaughter.
And yet, even those were generalizations. Lord Penrod saw himself as
the city's patriarch—the ranking nobleman, the one who needed to bring a
measure of conservative temperance to their problems. Kinaler, one of the
steel-workers, was worried that the Central Dominance needed a kinship
with the kingdoms around it, and saw an alliance with Cett as the best way
to protect Luthadel in the long run.
Each of the twenty-three Assemblymen had their own thoughts, goals,
and problems. That was what Elend had intended; ideas proliferated in such
an environment. He just hadn't expected so many of their ideas to contradict
his own.
"You were right, Ham," Elend said, turning.
Ham looked up, raising an eyebrow.
"At the beginning of this all, you and the others wanted to make an
alliance with one of the armies—give them the city in exchange for keeping
it safe from the other armies."
"I remember," Ham said.
"Well, that's what the people want," Elend said. "With or without my
consent, it appears they're going to give the city to Cett. We should have
just gone with your plan."
"Your Majesty?" Sazed asked quietly.
"Yes?"
"My apologies, but it is not your duty to do what the people want."
Elend blinked. "You sound like Tindwyl."
"I have known few people as wise as she, Your Majesty," Sazed said,
glancing at her.
"Well, I disagree with both of you," Elend said. "A ruler should only lead
by the consent of the people he rules."
"I do not disagree with that, Your Majesty," Sazed said. "Or, at least, I do
believe in the theory of it. Regardless, I still do not believe that your duty is
to do as the people wish. Your duty is to lead as best you can, following the
dictates of your conscience. You must be true, Your Majesty, to the man you
wish to become. If that man is not whom the people wish to have lead them,
then they will choose someone else."
Elend paused. Well, of course. If I shouldn't be an exception to my own
laws, I shouldn't be an exception to my own ethics, either. Sazed's words
were really just a rephrasing of things Tindwyl had said about trusting
oneself, but Sazed's explanation seemed a better one. A more honest one.
"Trying to guess what people wish of you will only lead to chaos, I
think," Sazed said. "You cannot please them all, Elend Venture."
The study's small ventilation window bumped open, and Vin squeezed
through, pulling in a puff of mist behind her. She closed the window, then
surveyed the room.
"More?" she asked incredulously. "You found more books?"
"Of course," Elend said.
"How many of those things have people written?" she asked with
exasperation.
Elend opened his mouth, then paused as he saw the twinkle in her eye.
Finally, he just sighed. "You're hopeless," he said, turning back to his
letters.
He heard rustling from behind, and a moment later Vin landed on one of
his stacks of books, somehow managing to balance atop it. Her mistcloak
tassels hung down around her, smudging the ink on his letter.
Elend sighed.
"Oops," Vin said, pulling back the mistcloak. "Sorry."
"Is it really necessary to leap around like that all the time, Vin?" Elend
asked.
Vin jumped down. "Sorry," she repeated, biting her lip. "Sazed says it's
because Mistborn like to be up high, so we can see everything that's going
on."
Elend nodded, continuing the letter. He preferred them to be in his own
hand, but he'd need to have a scribe rewrite this one. He shook his head. So
much to do. . ..
Vin watched Elend scribble. Sazed sat reading, as did one of Elend's
scribes—the obligator. She eyed the man, and he shrank down a little in his
seat. He knew that she'd never trusted him. Priests shouldn't be cheerful.
She was excited to tell Elend what she'd discovered about Demoux, but
she hesitated. There were too many people around, and she didn't really
have any evidence—just her instincts. So, she held herself back, looking
over the stacks of books.
There was a dull quiet in the room. Tindwyl sat with her eyes slightly
glazed; she was probably studying some ancient biography in her mind.
Even Ham was reading, though he flipped from book to book, hopping
topics. Vin felt as if she should be studying something, too. She thought of
the notes she'd been making about the Deepness and the Hero of Ages, but
couldn't bring herself to get them out.
She couldn't tell him about Demoux, yet, but there was something else
she'd discovered.
"Elend," she said quietly. "I have something to tell you."
"Humm?"
"I heard the servants talking when OreSeur and I got dinner earlier," Vin
said. "Some people they know have been sick lately—a lot of them. I think
that someone might be fiddling with our supplies."
"Yes," Elend said, still writing. "I know. Several wells in the city have
been poisoned."
"They have?"
He nodded. "Didn't I tell you when you checked on me earlier? That's
where Ham and I were."
"You didn't tell me."
"I thought I did," Elend said, frowning.
Vin shook her head.
"I apologize," he said, leaned up and kissed her, then turned back to his
scribbling.
And a kiss is supposed to make it all right? she thought sullenly, sitting
back on a stack of books.
It was a silly thing; there was really no reason that Elend should have
told her so quickly. And yet, the exchange left her feeling odd. Before, he
would have asked her to do something about the problem. Now, he'd1
apparently handled it all on his own.
Sazed sighed, closing his tome. "Your Majesty, I can find no holes. I have
read your laws over six times now."
Elend nodded. "I feared as much. The only advantage we could gain from
the law is to misinterpret it intentionally—which I will not do."
"You are a good man, Your Majesty," Sazed said. "If you had seen a hole
in the law, you would have fixed it. Even if you hadn't caught the flaws, one
of us would have, when you asked for our opinions."
He lets them call him "Your Majesty," Vin thought. He tried to get them
to stop that. Why let them use it now?
Odd, that Elend would finally start to think of himself as king after the
throne had been taken from him.
"Wait," Tindwyl said, eyes unglazing. "You read over this law before it
was ratified, Sazed?"
Sazed flushed.
"He did," Elend said. "In fact, Sazed's suggestions and ideas were
instrumental in helping me craft the current code."
"I see," Tindwyl said through tight lips.
Elend frowned. "Tindwyl, you were not invited to this meeting. You are
suffered at it. Your advice has been well appreciated, but I will not allow
you to insult a friend and guest of my household, even if those insults are
indirect."
"I apologize, Your Majesty."
"You will not apologize to me," Elend said. "You will apologize to Sazed,
or you will leave this conference."
Tindwyl sat for a moment; then she stood and left the room. Elend didn't
appear offended. He simply turned back to writing his letters.
"You didn't need to do that, Your Majesty," Sazed said. "Tindwyl's
opinions of me are well founded, I think."
"I will do as I see fit, Sazed," Elend said, still writing. "No offense, my
friend, but you have a history of letting people treat you poorly. I won't
stand for it in my house—by insulting your help with my laws, she insulted
me as well."
Sazed nodded, then reached over to pick up a new volume.
Vin sat quietly. He's changing so quickly. How long has it been since
Tindwyl arrived? Two months? None of the things Elend said were that
different from what he would have said before—but the way he said them
was completely different. He was firm, demanding in a way that implied he
expected respect.
It's the collapse of his throne, the danger of the armies, Vin thought. The
pressures are forcing him to change, to either step up and lead or get
crushed. He'd known about the wells. What other things had he discovered,
and not told her?
"Elend?" Vin asked. "I've thought more about the Deepness."
"That's wonderful, Vin," Elend said, smiling at her. "But, I really don't
have time right now. . .."
Vin nodded, and smiled at him. However, her thoughts were more
troubled. He's not uncertain, like he once was. He doesn't have to rely on
people as much for support.
He doesn't need me anymore.
It was a foolish thought. Elend loved her; she knew that. His aptitude
wouldn't make her less valuable to him. And yet, she couldn't stamp out her
worries. He'd left her onc1e before, when he'd been trying to juggle the
needs of his house with his love for her, and the action had nearly crushed
her.
What would happen if he abandoned her now?
He won't, she told herself. He's a better man than that.
But, good men had failed relationships, didn't they? People grew apart—
particularly people who were so different to begin with. Despite herself—
despite her self-assurances—she heard a small voice pop up in the back of
her mind.
It was a voice she'd thought banished, a voice she hadn't ever expected to
hear again.
Leave him first, Reen, her brother, seemed to whisper in her head. It will
hurt less.
Vin heard a rustling outside. She perked up slightly, but it had been too
soft for the others to hear. She stood, walking over to the ventilation
window.
"Going back on patrol?" Elend asked.
She turned, then nodded.
"You might want to scout out Cett's defenses at Keep Hasting," Elend
said.
Vin nodded again. Elend smiled at her, then turned back to his letters. Vin
pulled open the window and stepped out into the night. Zane stood in the
mists, feet barely resting against the stone lip running beneath the window.
He stood at a skewed angle, feet against the wall, body jutting out into the
night.
Vin glanced to the side, noting the bit of metal that Zane was Pulling
against to hold himself stationary. Another feat of prowess. He smiled at her
in the night.
"Zane?" she whispered.
Zane glanced upward, and Vin nodded. A second later, they both landed
atop Keep Venture's metal roof.
Vin turned to Zane. "Where have you been?"
He attacked.
Vin jumped back in surprise as Zane spun forward, a swirling form in
black, knives twinkling. She came down with her feet half off the rooftop,
tense. A spar, then? she thought.
Zane struck, his knife coming dangerously close to her neck as she
dodged to the side. There was something different about his attacks this
time. Something more dangerous.
Vin cursed and pulled out her own daggers, jumping back from another
attack. As she moved, Zane sliced through the air, cutting the tip off one of
her mistcloak tassels.
She turned to face him. He walked forward, but held no combat posture.
He seemed confident, yet unconcerned, as if he were strolling up to an old
friend, not entering a fight.
All right then, she thought, jumping forward, swiping with her daggers.
Zane stepped forward casually, turning just slightly to the side, easily
dodging one knife. He reached out, grabbing her other hand with an
effortless motion, stopping its blow.
Vin froze. Nobody was that good. Zane looked down at her, eyes dark.
Unconcerned. Unworried.
He was burning atium.
Vin pulled free of his grip, jumping backward. He let her go, watching as
she fell into a crouch, sweat beading on her brow. She felt a sudden, sharp
stab of terror—a guttural, primal feeling. She had feared this day from the
moment she'd learned of atium. It was the terror of knowin1g she was
powerless, despite all of her skills and abilities.
It was the terror of knowing she was going to die.
She turned to jump away, but Zane leaped forward before she even began
to move. He knew what she would do before she did herself. He grabbed
her shoulder from behind, pulling her backward, throwing her down to the
rooftop.
Vin slammed against the metal roofing, gasping in pain. Zane stood
above her, looking down, as if waiting.
I won't be beaten this way! Vin thought with desperation. I won't be killed
like a trapped rat!
She reached and swung a knife at his leg, but it was useless. He pulled
the leg back slightly—just enough—so that her swing didn't even nick the
cloth of his trousers. She was like a child, being held at a distance by a
much larger, more powerful foe. This was what it must be like, being a
normal person, trying to fight her.
Zane stood in the darkness.
"What?" she finally demanded.
"You really don't have it," he said quietly. "The Lord Ruler's atium stash."
"No," she said.
"You don't have any at all," he said flatly.
"I used the last bead the day I fought Cett's assassins."
He stood for a moment; then he turned, stepping away from her. Vin sat
up, heart thumping, hands shaking just a bit. She forced herself to her feet,
then stooped and retrieved her fallen daggers. One had cracked against the
roof's copper top.
Zane turned back toward her, quiet in the mists.
Zane watched her in the darkness, saw her fear—yet also her
determination.
"My father wants me to kill you," Zane said.
She stood, watching him, eyes still afraid. She was strong, and she
repressed the fear well. The news from their spy, the words Vin had spoken
while visiting Straff's tent, were all true. There was no atium to be had in
this city.
"Is that why you stayed away?" she asked.
He nodded, turning away from her.
"So?" she asked. "Why let me live?"
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I may still kill you. But. . .I don't have to.
Not to fulfill his order. I could just take you away—that would have the
same effect."
He turned back toward her. She was frowning, a small, quiet figure in the
mists.
"Come with me," he said. "Both of us could leave—Straff would lose his
Mistborn, and Elend would lose his. We could deny them both their tools.
And we could be free."
She didn't respond immediately. Finally, she shook her head. "This. .
.thing between us, Zane. It isn't what you think."
"What do you mean?" he said, stepping forward.
She looked up at him. "I love Elend, Zane. I really do."
And you think that means you can't feel anything for me? Zane thought.
What of that look I've seen in your eyes, that longing? No, it isn't as easy as
you imply, is it?
It never is.
And yet, what else had he expe1cted? He turned away. "It makes sense.
That's the way it has always been."
"What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded.
Elend. . ..
"Kill him," God whispered.
Zane squeezed his eyes shut. She would not be fooled; not a woman who
had grown up on the streets, a woman who was friends with thieves and
scammers. This was the difficult part. She would need to see things that
terrified Zane.
She would need truth.
"Zane?" Vin asked. She still seemed a bit shaken by his attack, but she
was the type who recovered quickly.
"Can't you see the resemblance?" Zane asked, turning. "The same nose,
the same slant of the face? I cut my hair shorter than he, but it has the same
curl. Is it so hard to see?"
Her breath caught in her throat.
"Who else would Straff Venture trust as his Mistborn?" Zane asked.
"Why else would he let me get so close, why else would he feel so
comfortable letting me in on his plans?"
"You're his son," Vin whispered. "Elend's brother."
Zane nodded.
"Elend. . ."
"Doesn't know of me," Zane said. "Ask him about our father's sexual
habits sometime."
"He's told me," Vin said. "Straff likes mistresses."
"For more than one reason," Zane said. "More women means more
children. More children means more Allomancers. More Allomancers
means more chances at having a Mistborn son to be your assassin."
Breeze-blown mist washed over them. In the distance, a soldier's armor
clinked as he patrolled.
"While the Lord Ruler lived, I could never inherit," Zane said. "You
know how strict the obligators were. I grew up in the shadows, ignored.
You lived on the streets—I assume that was terrible. But, think of what it
would be like to be a scavenger in your own home, unacknowledged by
your father, treated like a beggar. Think of watching your brother, a boy
your same age, growing up privileged. Think of watching his disdain for the
things you longed to have. Comfort, idleness, love. . ."
"You must hate him," Vin whispered.
"Hate?" Zane asked. "No. Why hate a man for what he is? Elend has
done nothing to me, not directly. Besides, Straff found a reason to need me,
eventually—after I Snapped, and he finally got what he'd been gambling to
get for the last twenty years No, I don't hate Elend. Sometimes, however, I
do envy him. He has everything. And still. . .it seems to me like he doesn't
appreciate it."
Vin stood quietly. "I'm sorry."
Zane shook his head sharply. "Don't pity me, woman. If I were Elend, I
wouldn't be Mistborn. I wouldn't understand the mists, nor would I know
what it was like to grow up alone and hated." He turned, looking into her
eyes. "Don't you think a man better appreciates love when he has been
forced for so long to go without?"
"I. . ."
Zane turned away. "Anyway," he said, "I didn't come here tonight to
lament my childhood. I came with a warning."
Vin grew tense.
"A short time ago," Zane said, "my father let several hundred refugees
through his barricade t1o approach the city. You know of the koloss army?"
Vin nodded.
"It attacked and pillaged the city of Suisna earlier."
Vin felt a start of fright. Suisna was only a day away from Luthadel. The
koloss were close.
"The refugees came to my father for help," Zane said. "He sent them on
to you."
"To make the people of the city more afraid," Vin said. "And to provide a
further drain on our resources."
Zane nodded. "I wanted to give you warning. Both of the refugees, and of
my orders. Think about my offer, Vin. Think about this man who claims to
love you. You know he doesn't understand you. If you leave, it will be
better for both of you."
Vin frowned. Zane bowed his head slightly to her, then jumped into the
night, Pushing against the metal rooftop. She still didn't believe him about
Elend. He could see that in her eyes.
Well, proof was coming. She'd soon see. She'd soon understand what
Elend Venture truly thought of her.
But I do so now. Let it be known that I, Kwaan, Worldbringer of Terris,
am a fraud.
35
IT FELT LIKE SHE WAS going to a ball again.
The beautiful maroon gown would have fit in perfectly at one of the
parties she had attended during the months before the Collapse. The dress
was untraditional, but not unfashionable. The changes simply made the
dress seem distinctive.
The alterations left her freer to move; let her walk more gracefully, turn
more naturally. That, in turn, made her feel even more beautiful. Standing
before her mirror, Vin thought of what it might have been like to wear the
dress to a real ball. To be herself—not Valette, the uncomfortable country
noblewoman. Not even Vin, the skaa thief. To be herself.
Or, at least, as she could imagine herself. Confident because she accepted
her place as a Mistborn. Confident because she accepted her place as the
one who had struck down the Lord Ruler. Confident because she knew that
the king loved her.
Maybe I could be both, Vin thought, running her hands down the sides of
the dress, feeling the soft satin.
"You look beautiful, child," Tindwyl said.
Vin turned, smiling hesitantly. "I don't have any jewelry. I gave the last of
it to Elend to help feed the refugees. It was the wrong color to go with this
dress anyway."
"Many women use jewelry to try and hide their own plainness," Tindwyl
said. "You don't have that need."
The Terriswoman stood with her usual posture, hands clasped before her,
rings and earrings sparkling. None of her jewelry, however, had gemstones;
in fact, most of it was made from simple materials. Iron, copper, pewter.
Feruchemical metals.
"You haven't been in to see Elend lately," Vin said, turning back to the
mirror and using a few wooden barrettes to hold her hair back.
"The king is quickly approaching the point where he no longer needs my
instruction."
"He's that close then?" Vin asked. "To being like the men from your
biographies?"
Tindwyl laughed. "Goodness, no, child. He's quite f1ar from that."
"But—"
"I said he would no longer need my instruction," Tindwyl said. "He is
learning that he can rely only so much upon the words of others, and has
reached the point where he will have to learn more for himself. You would
be surprised, child, how much about being a good leader simply comes
from experience."
"He seems very different to me," Vin said quietly.
"He is," Tindwyl said, walking forward to lay a hand on Vin's shoulder.
"He is becoming the man that he always knew he would have to be—he just
didn't know the path. Though I am hard on him, I think he would have
found his way, even if I hadn't come. A man can only stumble for so long
before he either falls or stands up straight."
Vin looked at her mirror self, pretty in its maroon dressings. "This is
what I have to become. For him."
"For him," Tindwyl agreed. "And for yourself. This is where you were
heading, before you got distracted."
Vin turned. "Are you going to come with us tonight?"
Tindwyl shook her head. "That is not my place. Now, go meet your
king."
This time, Elend did not intend to enter his enemy's lair without a proper
escort. Two hundred soldiers stood in the courtyard, waiting to accompany
him to Cett's dinner, and Ham—fully armed—was playing personal
bodyguard. Spook would act as Elend's coachman. That only left Breeze,
who—understandably—was a bit nervous about the idea of going to the
dinner.
"You don't have to come," Elend told the portly man as they assembled in
the Venture courtyard.
"I don't?" Breeze said. "Well then, I shall remain here. Enjoy the dinner!"
Elend paused, frowning.
Ham clapped Elend on the shoulder. "You should know better than to
give that one any wiggle room, Elend!"
"Well, I meant my words," Elend said. "We could really use a Soother,
but he doesn't have to come if he doesn't want to."
Breeze looked relieved.
"You don't even feel a bit guilty, do you?" Ham asked.
"Guilty?" Breeze asked, hand resting on his cane. "My dear Hammond,
have you ever known me to express such a dreary and uninspired emotion?
Besides, I have a feeling Cett will be more amiable without me around."
He's probably right, Elend thought as his coach pulled up.
"Elend," Ham said. "Don't you think bringing two hundred soldiers with
us is. . .well, a little obvious?"
"Cett is the one who said we should be honest with our threats," Elend
said. "Well, I'd say two hundred men is on the conservative side of how
well I trust the man. He'll still have us outnumbered five to one."
"But you'll have a Mistborn sitting a few seats from him," a soft voice
said from behind.
Elend turned, smiling at Vin. "How can you possibly move so quietly in a
dress like that?"
"I've been practicing," she said, taking his arm.
Thing is, she probably has, he thought, inhaling her perfume, imagining
Vin creeping through the palace hallways in a massive ball gown.
"Well,1 we should get moving," Ham said. He gestured for Vin and Elend
to enter the carriage, and they left Breeze behind on the palace steps.
After a year of passing Keep Hasting in the night, its windows darkened,
it felt right to see them glowing again.
"You know," Elend said from beside her, "we never did get to attend a
ball together."
Vin turned from her contemplation of the approaching keep. Around her,
the carriage bounced along to the sound of several hundred tromping feet,
the evening just beginning to grow dark.
"We met up several times at the balls," Elend continued, "but we never
officially attended one together. I never got the chance to pick you up in my
carriage."
"Is that really so important?" Vin asked.
Elend shrugged. "It's all part of the experience. Or, it was. There was a
comfortable formality to it all; the gentleman arriving to accompany the
lady, then everyone watching you enter and evaluating how you look
together. I did it dozens of times with dozens of women, but never with the
one that would have made the experience special."
Vin smiled. "Do you think we'll ever have balls again?"
"I don't know, Vin. Even if we survive all of this. . .well, could you dance
while so many people starved?" He was probably thinking about the
hundreds of refugees, wearied from their travels, stripped of all food and
equipment by Straff's soldiers, huddled together in the warehouse Elend had
found for them.
You danced before, she thought. People starved then, too. But that was a
different time; Elend hadn't been king then. In fact, as she thought about it,
he had never actually danced at those balls. He had studied and met with his
friends, planning how he could make a better place out of the Final Empire.
"There has to be a way to have both," Vin said. "Maybe we could throw
balls, and ask the nobility who came to donate money to help feed the
people."
Elend smiled. "We'd probably spend twice as much on the party as we
got in donations."
"And the money we spent would go to skaa merchants."
Elend paused thoughtfully, and Vin smirked to herself. Odd that I would
end up with the only frugal nobleman in the city. What a pair they were—a
Mistborn who felt guilty wasting coins to jump and a nobleman who
thought balls were too expensive. It was a wonder that Dockson could pry
enough money out of them to keep the city running.
"We'll worry about that later," Elend said as the Hasting gates opened,
revealing a field of soldiers at attention.
You can bring your soldiers if you want, the display seemed to say. I've
got more. In reality, they were entering a strange allegory of Luthadel itself.
Elend's two hundred were now surrounded by Cett's thousand—which, in
turn, were surrounded by Luthadel's twenty thousand. The city, of course,
was then surrounded by nearly a hundred thousand troops on the outside.
Layer upon layer of soldiers, all tensely waiting for a fight. Thoughts of
balls and parties fled her mind.
Cett did not greet them at the door. That duty was performed by a soldier
in a simple uniform.
"Your soldiers can remain here," the man said as they entered the main
entryway. Once, the large, pillared room had been draped in fine rugs and
wall hangings, but Elend had taken those to fund his governmen1t. Cett,
obviously, hadn't brought replacements, and that left the inside of the keep
feeling austere. Like a battlefront fortress, rather than a mansion.
Elend turned, waving to Demoux, and the captain ordered his men to
wait indoors. Vin stood for a moment, consciously keeping herself from
shooting a glare at Demoux. If he was the kandra, as her instincts warned,
then it was dangerous to have him too close. Part of her itched to simply
throw him in a dungeon.
And yet, a kandra couldn't hurt humans, so he wasn't a direct threat. He
was simply there to relay information. Plus, he'd already know their most
sensitive secrets; there was little point in striking now, playing her hand so
quickly. If she waited, saw where he went when he slipped out of the city,
then maybe she could find out which army—or sect in the city—he was
reporting to. Learn what information he had betrayed.
And so, she stayed her hand, waiting. The time to strike would come.
Ham and Demoux arranged their men, and then a smaller honor guard—
including Ham, Spook, and Demoux—gathered to stay with Vin and Elend.
Elend nodded to Cett's man, and the soldier led them down a side
passageway.
We're not heading toward the lifts, Vin thought. The Hasting ballroom
was at the very top of the keep's central tower; the times she had attended
balls in the structure, she had been taken to the top on one of four humandrawn lifts. Either Hasting didn't want to waste the manpower, or. . .
He picked the tallest keep in the city, Vin thought. The one with the
fewest windows as well. If Cett pulled all the lifts to the top, it would be
very difficult for an invading force to claim the keep.
Fortunately, it didn't appear that they would have to go all the way to the
top this evening. After they climbed two flights in a twisting stone stairwell
—Vin having to pull her dress in at the sides to keep from brushing against
the stones—their guide led them out into a large, circular room with
stained-glass windows running around the entire perimeter, broken only by
columns to support the ceiling. The single room was nearly as wide around
as the tower itself.
A secondary ballroom, perhaps? Vin wondered, taking in the beauty. The
glass wasn't lit, though she suspected that there were clefts for limelights on
the outside. Cett didn't appear to care about such things. He had set up a
large table in the very center of the room, and sat at its head. He was
already eating.
"You're late," he called out to Elend, "so I started without you."
Elend frowned. To this, Cett laughed a full bellow, holding up a
drumstick. "You seem more aghast at my breach of etiquette than you do
about the fact that I brought an army to conquer you, boy! But, I suppose
that's Luthadel. Sit down before I eat this all myself."
Elend held out an arm for Vin, leading her to the table. Spook took up
position near the stairwell, his Tineye's ears listening for danger. Ham led
their ten men to a position from which they could watch the only entrances
to the room—the entry from the stairs and the door the serving staff used.
Cett ignored the soldiers. He had a group of his own bodyguards standing
near the wall on the other side of the room, but he seemed unconcerned that
Ham's troop had them slightly outnumbered. His son—the young man who
had attended him at the Assembly meeting—stood at his side, waiting
quietly.
One of the two has to be Mistborn, Vin thought. And I still think it is
Cett.
Elend seated her, then took a chair next to her, both of them sitting
directly across from Cett. He barely paused in his eating as the servers
brought Vin's and Elend's dishes.
Drumsticks, Vin thought, and vegetables in gravy. He wants this to be a
messy meal—he wants to make Elend uncomfortable.
Elend didn't start on his food immediately. He sat, watching Cett, his
expression thoughtful.
"Damn," Cett said. "This is good food. You have no idea how hard it is to
get proper meals when traveling!"
"Why did you want to speak with me?" Elend asked. "You know I won't
be convinced to vote for you."
Cett shrugged. "I thought it might be interesting."
"Is this about your daughter?" Elend asked.
"Lord Ruler, no!" Cett said with a laugh. "Keep the silly thing, if you
want. The day she ran off was one of the few joys I've had this last month."
"And if I threaten to harm her?" Elend asked.
"You won't," Cett said.
"You're certain?"
Cett smiled through his thick beard, leaning toward Elend. "I know you,
Venture. I'd been watching you, studying you, for months. And then, you
were kind enough to send one of your friends to spy on me. I learned a lot
about you from him!"
Elend looked troubled.
Cett laughed. "Honestly, you didn't think I'd recognize one of the
Survivor's own crewmembers? You Luthadel noblemen must assume that
everyone outside the city is a damn fool!"
"And yet, you listened to Breeze," Elend said. "You let him join you,
listened to his advice. And then, you only chased him away when you found
him being intimate with your daughter—the one you claim to have no
affection for."
"Is that why he told you he left the camp?" Cett asked, laughing.
"Because I caught him with Allrianne? Goodness, what do I care if the girl
seduced him?"
"You think she seduced him?" Vin asked.
"Of course," Cett said. "Honestly, I only spent a few weeks with him, and
even I know how useless he is with women."
Elend was taking all this in stride. He watched Cett with narrow,
discerning eyes. "So why did you chase him away?"
Cett leaned back. "I tried to turn him. He refused. I figured killing him
would be preferable to letting him return to you. But, he's remarkably agile
for a man his size."
If Cett really is Mistborn, there's no way Breeze got away without Cett
letting him, Vin thought.
"So you see, Venture," Cett said. "I know you. I know you better,
perhaps, than you know yourself—for I know what your friends think of
you. It takes a pretty extraordinary man to earn the loyalty of a weasel like
Breeze."
"So you think I won't harm your daughter," Elend said.
"I know you won't," Cett said. "You're honest—I happen to like that about
you. Unfortunately, honesty is very easy to exploit—I knew, for instance,
that you'd admit Breeze was Soothing that crowd." Cett shook his head.
"Honest men weren't meant to be kings, lad. It's a damn shame, but1 it's
true. That's why I have to take the throne from you."
Elend was silent for a moment. Finally, he looked to Vin. She took his
plate, sniffing it with an Allomancer's senses.
Cett laughed. "Think I'd poison you?"
"No, actually," Elend said as Vin set the plate down. She wasn't as good
as some, but she'd leaned the obvious scents.
"You wouldn't use poison," Elend said. "That isn't your way. You seem to
be a rather honest man yourself."
"I'm just blunt," Cett said. "There's a difference."
"I haven't heard you tell a lie yet."
"That's because you don't know me well enough to discern the lies," Cett
said. He held up several grease-stained fingers. "I've already told you three
lies tonight, lad. Good luck guessing which ones they were."
Elend paused, studying Cett. "You're playing with me."
"Of course I am!" Cett said. "Don't you see, boy? This is why you
shouldn't be king. Leave the job to men who understand their own
corruption; don't let it destroy you."
"Why do you care?" Elend asked.
"Because I'd rather not kill you," Cett said.
"Then don't."
Cett shook his head. "That isn't how all this works, lad. If there is an
opportunity to stabilize your power, or to get more power, you'd damn well
better take it. And I will."
The table fell silent again. Cett eyed Vin. "No comments from the
Mistborn?"
"You swear a lot," Vin said. "You're not supposed to do that in front of
ladies."
Cett laughed. "That's the funny thing about Luthadel, lass. They're all so
concerned about doing what is 'proper' when people can see them—but, at
the same time, they find nothing wrong with going and raping a couple skaa
women when the party is through. At least I swear to your face."
Elend still hadn't touched his food. "What will happen if you win the vote
for the throne?"
Cett shrugged. "Honest answer?"
"Always."
"First thing, I'd have you assassinated," Cett said. "Can't have old kings
sticking around."
"And if I step down?" Elend said. "Withdraw from the vote?"
"Step down," Cett said, "vote for me, and then leave town, and I'll let you
live."
"And the Assembly?" Elend asked.
"Dissolved," Cett said. "They're a liability. Any time you give a
committee power, you just end up with confusion."
"The Assembly gives the people power," Elend said. "That's what a
government should provide."
Surprisingly, Cett didn't laugh at that comment. Instead, he leaned in
again, setting one arm on the table, discarding a half-eaten drumstick.
"That's the thing, boy. Letting the people rule themselves is fine when
everything is bright and happy, but what about when you have two armies
facing you? What about when there's a band of insane koloss destroying
villages on your frontier? Those aren't the times when you can afford to
have an Assembly around to depose you." Cett shook his head. "The price
is too high. When you can't have both freedom and safety, boy, 1which do
you choose?"
Elend was silent. "I make my own choice," he finally said. "And I leave
the others to make their own as well."
Cett smiled, as if he'd expected such a reply. He started in on another
drumstick.
"Let's say I leave," Elend said. "And let's say you do get the throne,
protect the city, and dissolve the Assembly. What then? What of the
people?"
"Why do you care?"
"You need ask?" Elend said. "I thought you 'understood' me."
Cett smiled. "I put the skaa back to work, in the way the Lord Ruler did.
No pay, no emancipated peasant class."
"I can't accept that," Elend said.
"Why not?" Cett said. "It's what they want. You gave them a choice—and
they chose to throw you out. Now they're going to choose to put me on the
throne. They know that the Lord Ruler's way was the best. One group must
rule, and another must serve. Someone has to grow the food and work the
forges, boy."
"Perhaps," Elend said. "But you're wrong about one thing."
"And what is that?"
"They're not going to vote for you," Elend said, standing. "They're going
to choose me. Faced with the choice between freedom and slavery, they will
choose freedom. The men of the Assembly are the finest of this city, and
they will make the best choice for its people."
Cett paused, then he laughed. "The best thing about you, lad, is that you
can say that and sound serious!"
"I'm leaving, Cett," Elend said, nodding to Vin.
"Oh, sit down, Venture," Cett said, waving toward Elend's chair. "Don't
act indignant because I'm being honest with you. We still have things to
discuss."
"Such as?" Elend asked.
"Atium," Cett said.
Elend stood for a moment, apparently forcing down his annoyance.
When Cett didn't speak immediately, Elend finally sat and began to eat. Vin
just picked quietly at her food. As she did, however, she studied the faces of
Cett's soldiers and servants. There were bound to be Allomancers mixed
among them—finding out how many could give Elend an advantage.
"Your people are starving," Cett said. "And, if my spies are worth their
coin, you just got another influx of mouths. You can't last much longer
under this siege."
"And?" Elend asked.
"I have food," Cett said. "A lot of it—more than my army needs. Canned
goods, packed with the new method the Lord Ruler developed. Longlasting, no spoilage. Really a marvel of technology. I'd be willing to trade
you some of them. . .."
Elend paused, fork halfway to his lips. Then he lowered it and laughed.
"You still think I have the Lord Ruler's atium?"
"Of course you have it," Cett said, frowning. "Where else would it be?"
Elend shook his head, taking a bite of gravy-drenched potato. "Not here,
for certain."
"But. . .the rumors. . ." Cett said.
"Breeze spread those rumors," Elend said. "I thought you'd figured out
why he joined your group. He wanted you to come to Luthadel so that you'd
stop Straff from taking the city."
"But, Breeze did everything he could to keep me from coming here," Cett
said. "He downplayed the rumors, he tried to distract me, he. . ." Cett trailed
off, then he bellowed a laugh. "I thought he was just there to spy! It seems
we both underestimated each other."
"My people could still use that food," Elend said.
"And they'll have it—assuming I become king."
"They're starving now," Elend said.
"And their suffering will be your burden," Cett said, his face growing
hard. "I can see that you have judged me, Elend Venture. You think me a
good man. You're wrong. Honesty does not make a man less of a tyrant. I
slaughtered thousands to secure my rule. I put burdens on the skaa that
make even the Lord Ruler's hand seem pleasant. I made certain that I stayed
in power. I will do the same here."
The men fell silent. Elend ate, but Vin only mixed her food around. If she
had missed a poison, she wanted one of them to remain alert. She still
wanted to find those Allomancers, and there was only one way to be
certain. She turned off her copper, then burned bronze.
There was no Coppercloud burning; Cett apparently didn't care if
someone recognized his men as Allomancers. Two of his men were burning
pewter. Neither, however, were soldiers; both were pretending to be
members of the serving staff who were bringing meals. There was also a
Tineye pulsing in the other room, listening.
Why hide Thugs as servants, then use no copper to hide their pulses? In
addition, there were no Soothers or Rioters. Nobody was trying to influence
Elend's emotions. Neither Cett nor his youthful attendant were burning any
metals. Either they weren't actually Allomancers, or they feared exposing
themselves. Just to be certain, Vin flared her bronze, seeking to pierce any
hidden copperclouds that might be nearby. She could see Cett putting out
some obvious Allomancers as a distraction, then hiding the others inside a
cloud.
She found nothing. Finally satisfied, she returned to picking at her meal.
How many times has this ability of mine—the ability to pierce copperclouds
—proven useful? She'd forgotten what it was like to be blocked from
sensing Allomantic pulses. This one little ability—simple though it seemed
—provided an enormous advantage. And the Lord Ruler and his Inquisitors
had probably been able to do it from the beginning. What other tricks was
she missing, what other secrets had died with the Lord Ruler?
He knew the truth about the Deepness, Vin thought. He must have. He
tried to warn us, at the end. . ..
Elend and Cett were talking again. Why couldn't she focus on the
problems of the city?
"So you don't have any atium at all?" Cett said.
"None that we're willing to sell," Elend said.
"You've searched the city?" Cett asked.
"A dozen times."
"The statues," Cett said. "Perhaps the Lord Ruler hid the metal by
melting it down, then building things out of it."
Elend shook his head. "We thought of that. The statues aren't atium, and
they aren't hollow either—that would have been a good place to hide metal
from Allomancer eyes. We thought maybe that it would be hidden in the
palace somewhere, but even the spires are simple iron."
"Caves, tunnels. . .."
"None that we can find," Elend said.1 "We've had Allomancers patrol,
searching for large sources of metals. We've done everything we can think
of, Cett, short of tearing holes in the ground. Trust me. We've been working
on this problem for a while."
Cett nodded, sighing. "So, I suppose holding you for ransom would be
pointless?"
Elend smiled. "I'm not even king, Cett. The only thing you'd do is make
the Assembly less likely to vote for you."
Cett laughed. "Suppose I'll have to let you go, then."
Alendi was never the Hero of Ages. At best, I have amplified his virtues,
creating a Hero where there was none. At worst, I fear that all we believe
may have been corrupted.
36
ONCE THIS WAREHOUSE HAD HELD swords and armor, scattered
across its floor in heaps, like some mythical treasure. Sazed remembered
walking through it, marveling at the preparations Kelsier had made without
alerting any of his crewmembers. Those weapons had armed the rebellion
on the eve of the Survivor's own death, letting it take the city.
Those weapons were now stored in lockers and armories. In their place, a
desperate, beaten people huddled in what blankets they could find. There
were very few men, none of fighting quality; Straff had pressed those into
his army. These others—the weak, the sickly, the wounded—he had
allowed to Luthadel, knowing that Elend wouldn't turn them away.
Sazed moved among them, offering what comfort he could. They had no
furniture, and even changes of clothing were becoming scarce in the city.
The merchants, realizing that warmth would be a premium for the
upcoming winter, had begun raising prices on all their wares, not just
foodstuffs.
Sazed knelt beside a crying woman. "Peace, Genedere," he said, his
coppermind reminding him of her name.
She shook her head. She had lost three children in the koloss attack, two
more in the flight to Luthadel. Now the final one—the babe she had carried
the entire way—was sick. Sazed took the child from her arms, carefully
studying his symptoms. Little had changed from the day before.
"Is there hope, Master Terrisman?" Genedere asked.
Sazed glanced down at the thin, glassy-eyed baby. The chances were not
good. How could he tell her such a thing?
"As long as he breathes, there is hope, dear woman," Sazed said. "I will
ask the king to increase your portion of food—you need strength to give
suck. You must keep him warm. Stay near the fires, and use a damp cloth to
drip water in his mouth even when he is not eating. He has great need of
liquids."
Genedere nodded dully, taking back the baby. How Sazed wished he
could give her more. A dozen different religions passed through his mind.
He had spent his entire life trying to encourage people to believe in
something other than the Lord Ruler. Yet, for some reason, at this moment
he found it difficult to preach one of them to Genedere.
It had been different before the Collapse. Each time he'd spoken of a
religion, Sazed had felt a subtle sense of rebellion. Even if people hadn't
accepted the things he taught—and they rarely had—his words had
reminded them that there had once been beliefs other than the doctrines of
the Steel Ministry.
Now there was nothing to rebel against. In the face of the terrible grief he
saw in Genedere's eyes, he found it dif1ficult to speak of religions long
dead, gods long forgotten. Esoterica would not ease this woman's pain.
Sazed stood, moving on to the next group of people.
"Sazed?"
Sazed turned. He hadn't noticed Tindwyl entering the warehouse. The
doors of the large structure were closed against approaching night, and the
firepits gave an inconsistent light. Holes had been knocked in the roof to let
out the smoke; if one looked up, trails of mist could be seen creeping into
the room, though they evaporated before they reached halfway to the floor.
The refugees didn't often look up.
"You've been here nearly all day," Tindwyl said. The room was
remarkably quiet, considering its occupancy. Fires crackled, and people lay
silent in their pain or numbness.
"There are many wounded here," Sazed said. "I am the best one to look
after them, I think. I am not alone—the king has sent others and Lord
Breeze is here, Soothing the people's despair."
Sazed nodded to the side, where Breeze sat in a chair, ostensibly reading
a book. He looked terribly out of place in the room, wearing his fine threepiece suit. Yet, his mere presence said something remarkable, in Sazed's
estimation.
These poor people, Sazed thought. Their lives were terrible under the
Lord Ruler. Now even what little they had has been taken from them. And
they were only a tiny number—four hundred compared with the hundreds
of thousands who still lived in Luthadel.
What would happen when the final stores of food ran out? Rumors were
already abroad regarding the poisoned wells, and Sazed had just heard that
some of their stored food had been sabotaged as well. What would happen
to these people? How long could the siege continue?
In fact, what would happen when the siege ended? What would happen
when the armies finally began to attack and pillage? What destruction, what
grief, would the soldiers cause in searching for hidden atium?
"You do care for them," Tindwyl said quietly, stepping up.
Sazed turned toward her. Then he looked down. "Not as much as I
should, perhaps."
"No," Tindwyl said. "I can see it. You confuse me, Sazed."
"I seem to have a talent in that area."
"You look tired. Where is your bronzemind?"
Suddenly, Sazed felt the fatigue. He'd been ignoring it, but her words
seemed to bring it in like a wave, rolling over him.
He sighed. "I used most of my wakefulness in my run to Luthadel. I was
so eager to get here. . .." His studies had languished recently. With the
problems in the city, and the arrival of the refugees, he hadn't had much
time. Besides, he had already transcribed the rubbing. Further work would
require detailed cross-referencing to other works, searching for clues. He
probably wouldn't even have time to. . .
He frowned, noting the odd look in Tindwyl's eyes.
"All right," she said, sighing. "Show me."
"Show you?"
"Whatever it was you found," she said. "The discovery that prompted you
to run across two dominances. Show it to me."
Suddenly, everything seemed to lighten. His fatigue, his worry, even his
sorrow. "I would love to," he sai1d quietly.
Another job well done, Breeze thought, congratulating himself as he
watched the two Terrismen leave the warehouse.
Most people, even noblemen, misunderstood Soothing. They thought of
it as some kind of mind control, and even those who knew more presumed
that Soothing was an invasive, terrible thing.
Breeze had never seen it that way. Soothing wasn't invasive. If it was,
then ordinary interaction with another person was comparably invasive.
Soothing, when done right, was no more a violation of another person than
it was for a woman to wear a low-cut gown or speak in a commanding
voice. All three produced common, understandable, and—most important—
natural reactions in people.
Take Sazed, for example. Was it "invasive" to make the man less
fatigued, so he could better go about his ministrations? Was it wrong to
Soothe away his pain—just a bit—thereby making him better able to cope
with the suffering?
Tindwyl was an even better example. Perhaps some would call Breeze a
meddler for Soothing her sense of responsibility, and her disappointment,
when she saw Sazed. But, Breeze had not created the emotions that the
disappointment had been overshadowing. Emotions like curiosity. Respect.
Love.
No, if Soothing were simple "mind control," Tindwyl would have turned
away from Sazed as soon as the two left Breeze's area of influence. But
Breeze knew that she wouldn't. A crucial decision had been made, and
Breeze had not made that decision for her. The moment had been building
for weeks; it would have occurred with or without Breeze.
He had just helped it happen sooner.
Smiling to himself, Breeze checked his pocket watch. He still had a few
more minutes, and he settled back in his chair, sending out a general
Soothing wave, lessening people's grief and pain. Focusing on so many at
once, he couldn't be very specific; some would find themselves made a little
emotionally numb as he Pushed too strongly against them. But, it would be
good for the group as a whole.
He didn't read his book; in truth, he couldn't understand how Elend and
the rest spent so much time with them. Dreadfully boring things. Breeze
could only see himself reading if there were no people around. Instead, he
went back to what he'd been doing before Sazed had drawn his attention.
He studied the refugees, trying to decide what each one was feeling.
This was the other great misunderstanding about Soothing. Allomancy
wasn't nearly as important as observational talent. True, having a subtle
touch certainly helped. However, Soothing didn't give an Allomancer the
ability to know someone's feelings. Those, Breeze had to guess on his own.
It all came back to what was natural. Even the most inexperienced skaa
would realize they were being Soothed if unexpected emotions began
bouncing around inside of them. True subtlety in Soothing was about
encouraging natural emotions, all done by carefully making the right other
emotions less powerful. People were a patchwork of feelings; usually, what
they thought they were "feeling" at the moment only related to which
emotions were currently most dominant within them.
The careful Soother saw what was beneath the surface. He understood
what a man was feeling, even when that man himself didn't understand—or
acknowledge—those emotions. Such was the case with Sazed and Tindwyl.
Odd pair, that one, Breeze thought to himself, idly Soothing one of the
skaa to make him more relaxed as he tried to sleep. The 1rest of the crew is
convinced that those two are enemies. But, hatred rarely creates that
measure of bitterness and frustration. No, those two emotions come from an
entirely different set of problems.
Of course, isn't Sazed supposed to be a eunuch? I wonder how this all
came about. . ..
His speculations trailed off as the warehouse doors opened. Elend walked
in—Ham, unfortunately, accompanying him. Elend was wearing one of his
white uniforms, complete with white gloves and a sword. The white was an
important symbol; with all of the ash and soot in the city, a man in white
was quite striking. Elend's uniforms had to been crafted of special fabrics
designed to be resistant to ash, and they still had to be scrubbed every day.
The effect was worth the effort.
Breeze immediately picked at Elend's emotions, making the man less
tired, less uncertain—though the second was becoming almost unnecessary.
That was partially the Terriswoman's doing; Breeze had been impressed
with her ability to change how people felt, considering her lack of
Allomancy.
Breeze left Elend's emotions of disgust and pity; both were appropriate
considering the environment. He did, however, give Ham a nudge to make
him less argumentative; Breeze wasn't in a mood to deal with the man's
prattlings at the moment.
He stood as the two men approached. People perked up as they saw
Elend, his presence somehow bringing them a hope that Breeze couldn't
emulate with Allomancy. They whispered, calling Elend King.
"Breeze," Elend said, nodding. "Is Sazed here?"
"He just left, I'm afraid," Breeze said.
Elend seemed distracted. "Ah, well," he said. "I'll find him later." Elend
looked around the room, lips downturned. "Ham, tomorrow, I want you to
round up the clothing merchants on Kenton Street and bring them here to
see this."
"They might not like that, Elend," Ham said.
"I hope they don't," Elend said. "But we'll see how they feel about their
prices once they visit this room. I can understand food's expense,
considering its scarcity. However, there is no reason but greed to deny the
people clothing."
Ham nodded, but Breeze could see the reticence in his posture. Did the
others realize how strangely nonconfrontational Ham was? He liked to
argue with friends, but he rarely actually came to any conclusions in his
philosophizing. Plus, he absolutely hated fighting with strangers; Breeze
had always found that an odd attribute in one who was hired, essentially, to
hit people. He gave Ham a bit of a Soothing to make him less worried about
confronting the merchants.
"You aren't going to stay here all night, are you, Breeze?" Elend asked.
"Lord Ruler, no!" Breeze said. "My dear man, you're lucky you managed
to get me to come at all. Honestly, this is no place for a gentleman. The dirt,
the depressing atmosphere—and that's not even making mention of the
smell!"
Ham frowned. "Breeze, someday you're going to have to learn to think
about other people."
"As long as I can think about them from a distance, Hammond, I shall be
happy to engage in the activity."
Ham shook his head. "You're hopeless."
"Are you heading back to the palace then?" Elend asked.
"Yes, actually," Breeze said, checking his pocket watch.
"Do you need a ride?"
"I brought my own carriage," Breeze said.
Elend nodded, then turned to Ham, and the two retreated the way they
had come, talking about Elend's next meeting with one of the other
Assemblymen.
Breeze wandered into the palace a short time later. He nodded to the door
guards, Soothing away their mental fatigue. They perked up in response,
watching the mists with renewed vigilance. It wouldn't last long, but little
touches like that were second nature to Breeze.
It was getting late, and few people were in the hallways. He made his
way through the kitchens, Nudging the scullery maids to make them more
chatty. It would make their cleaning pass more quickly. Beyond the kitchens
he found a small stone room, lit by a couple of plain lamps, set with a small
table. It was one of the palace's boothlike, solitary dining rooms.
Clubs sat in one corner of the booth, gimped leg stretched out on the
bench. He eyed Breeze with a scowl. "You're late."
"You're early," Breeze said, sliding into the bench across from Clubs.
"Same thing," Clubs grumbled.
There was a second cup on the table, along with a bottle of wine. Breeze
unbuttoned his vest, sighed quietly, and poured himself a cup as he leaned
back with his legs up on his bench.
Clubs sipped his wine.
"You have your cloud up?" Breeze asked.
"Around you?" Clubs said. "Always."
Breeze smiled, taking a sip, and relaxed. Though he rarely had
opportunities to use his powers anymore, Clubs was a Smoker. When he
was burning copper, every Allomancer's abilities were invisible to those
burning bronze. But more important—at least to Breeze—burning copper
made Clubs immune to any form of emotional Allomancy.
"Don't see why that makes you so happy," Clubs said. "I thought you
liked playing with emotions."
"I do," Breeze said.
"Then why come drink with me every night?" Clubs asked.
"You mind the company?"
Clubs didn't answer. That was pretty much his way of saying he didn't
mind. Breeze eyed the grumpy general. Most of the other crewmembers
stayed away from Clubs; Kelsier had brought him in at the last moment,
since the Coppercloud they usually used had died.
"Do you know what it's like, Clubs?" Breeze asked. "Being a Soother?"
"No."
"It gives you remarkable control. It's a wonderful feeling, being able to
influence those around you, always feeling like you have a handle on how
people will react."
"Sounds delightful," Clubs said flatly.
"And yet, it does things to you. I spend most of my time watching people
—tweaking, Nudging, and Soothing. That's changed me. I don't. . .look at
people the same way. It's hard to just be friends with someone when you see
them as something to be influenced and changed."
Clubs grunted. "So that's why we never used to see you with women."
Breeze nodded. "I can't help it anymore. I always touch the emotions of
everyone around me. And so, when a woman comes to love me. . ." He
liked to think he wasn't invasive. Yet, how 1could he trust anyone who said
they loved him? Was it he, or his Allomancy, that they responded to?
Clubs filled his cup. "You're a lot sillier than you act."
Breeze smiled. Clubs was one of the few people who was completely
immune to his touch. Emotional Allomancy wouldn't work on him, and he
was always completely forthcoming with his emotions: everything made
him grumpy. Manipulating him through non-Allomantic means had proven
to be a fruitless waste of time.
Breeze regarded his wine. "The amusing thing is, you almost didn't join
the crew because of me."
"Damn Soothers," Clubs muttered.
"But you're immune to us."
"To your Allomancy, maybe," Clubs said. "But that isn't the only way
you people do things. A man always has to watch himself around Soothers."
"Then why let me join you every evening for wine?"
Clubs was silent for a moment, and Breeze almost thought he wasn't
going to respond. Finally, Clubs muttered, "You're not as bad as most."
Breeze took a gulp of wine. "That is as honest a compliment as I think
I've ever received."
"Don't let it ruin you," Clubs said.
"Oh, I think I'm too late for ruining," Breeze said, topping off his cup.
"This crew. . .Kell's plan. . .has already done a thorough job of that."
Clubs nodded in agreement.
"What happened to us, Clubs?" Breeze asked. "I joined Kell for the
challenge. I never did know why you joined."
"Money."
Breeze nodded. "His plan fell apart, his army got destroyed, and we
stayed. Then he died, and we still stayed. This blasted kingdom of Elend's is
doomed, you know."
"We won't last another month," Clubs said. It wasn't idle pessimism;
Breeze knew people well enough to tell when they were serious.
"And yet, here we are," Breeze said. "I spent all day making skaa feel
better about the fact that their families had been slaughtered. You spent all
day training soldiers that—with or without your help—will barely last a few
heartbeats against a determined foe. We follow a boy of a king who doesn't
seem to have a shade of a clue just how bad his predicament is. Why?"
Clubs shook his head. "Kelsier. Gave us a city, made us think we were
responsible for protecting it."
"But we aren't that kind of people," Breeze said. "We're thieves and
scammers. We shouldn't care. I mean. . .I've gotten so bad that I Soothe
scullery maids so that they'll have a happier time at work! I might as well
start dressing in pink and carrying around flowers. I could probably make
quite a bundle at weddings."
Clubs snorted. Then he raised his cup. "To the Survivor," he said. "May
he be damned for knowing us better than we knew ourselves."
Breeze raised his own cup. "Damn him," he agreed quietly.
The two fell silent. Talking to Clubs tended to turn into. . .well, not
talking. However, Breeze felt a simple contentment. Soothing was
wonderful; it made him who he was. But it was also work. Even birds
couldn't fly all the time.
"There you are."
Breeze snapped his eyes open. Allrianne s1tood at the entrance to the
room, just at the edge of the table. She wore light blue; where had she
gotten so many dresses? Her makeup was, of course, immaculate—and
there was a bow in her hair. That long blond hair—common in the West but
almost unheard of in the Central Dominance—and that perky, inviting
figure.
Desire immediately blossomed inside of him. No! Breeze thought. She's
half your age. You're a dirty old man. Dirty! "Allrianne," he said
uncomfortably, "shouldn't you be in bed or something?"
She rolled her eyes, shooing his legs out of the way so she could sit on
the bench beside him. "It's only nine o'clock, Breeze. I'm eighteen, not ten."
You might as well be, he thought, looking away from her, trying to focus
on something else. He knew that he should be stronger, shouldn't let the girl
get near him, but he did nothing as she slid up to him and took a drink from
his cup.
He sighed, putting his arm around her shoulders. Clubs just shook his
head, the hint of a smile on his lips.
"Well," Vin said quietly, "that answers one question."
"Mistress?" OreSeur said, sitting across the table from her in the dark
room. With her Allomancer's ears, she could hear exactly what was going
on in the next boothlike room over.
"Allrianne is an Allomancer," Vin said.
"Really?"
Vin nodded. "She's been Rioting Breeze's emotions ever since she
arrived, making him more attracted to her."
"One would think that he'd notice," OreSeur said.
"You'd think," Vin said. She probably shouldn't feel as amused as she did.
The girl could be a Mistborn—though the idea of that puff flying through
the mists seemed ridiculous.
Which is probably exactly how she wants me to think, Vin thought. I have
to remember Kliss and Shan—neither one of them turned out to be the
person I thought they were.
"Breeze probably just doesn't think his emotions are unnatural," Vin said.
"He must be attracted to her already."
OreSeur closed his mouth and cocked his head—his dog's version of a
frown.
"I know," Vin agreed. "But, at least we know he isn't the one using
Allomancy to seduce her. Either way, that's irrelevant. Clubs isn't the
kandra."
"How could you possibly know that, Mistress?"
Vin paused. Clubs always turned his copper on around Breeze; it was one
of the few times he used it. However, it was difficult to tell if someone was
burning copper. After all, if they turned on their metal, they hid themselves
by default.
But Vin could pierce copperclouds. She could sense Allrianne's Rioting;
she could even sense a faint thumping coming from Clubs himself, copper's
own Allomantic pulse, something that Vin suspected few people beyond
herself and the Lord Ruler had ever heard.
"I just know," Vin said.
"If you say so, Mistress," OreSeur said. "But. . .didn't you already decide
the spy was Demoux?"
"I wanted to check Clubs anyway," she said. "Before I did anything
drastic."
"Drastic?"
Vin sat quietly for a moment. She didn't have much proof, but she did
1have her instincts—and those instincts told her Demoux was the spy. That
sneaking way he'd gone out the other night. . .the obvious logic of choosing
him. . .it all fit.
She stood. Things were getting too dangerous, too sensitive. She couldn't
ignore it any longer. "Come on," she said, leaving the booth behind. "It's
time to put Demoux in prison."
"What do you mean you lost him?" Vin asked, standing outside the door
to Demoux's room.
The servant flushed. "My lady, I'm sorry. I watched him, like you told me
—but he went out on patrol. Should I have followed? I mean, don't you
think that would have looked suspicious?"
Vin cursed quietly to herself. She knew that she didn't have much right to
be angry, however. I should have told Ham straight off, she thought with
frustration.
"My lady, he only left a few minutes ago," the servant said.
Vin glanced at OreSeur, then took off down the corridor. As soon as they
reached a window, Vin leaped out into the dark night, OreSeur following
behind her, dropping the short distance to the courtyard.
Last time, I saw him come back in through the gates to the palace
grounds, she thought, running through the mist. She found a couple of
soldiers there, guarding.
"Did Captain Demoux come this way?" she demanded, bursting into their
ring of torchlight.
They perked up, at first shocked, then confused.
"Lady Heir?" one of them said. "Yes, he just went out, on patrol just a
minute or two ago."
"By himself?" Vin asked.
They nodded.
"Isn't that a little odd?"
They shrugged. "He goes by himself sometimes," one said. "We don't
question. He's our superior, after all."
"Which way?" Vin demanded.
One pointed, and Vin took off, OreSeur at her side. I should have
watched better. I should have hired real spies to keep an eye on him. I
should have—
She froze. Up ahead, walking down a quite street in the mists, was a
figure, walking into the city. Demoux.
Vin dropped a coin and threw herself into the air, passing far over his
head, landing on top of a building. He continued, oblivious. Demoux or
kandra, neither would have Allomantic powers.
Vin paused, daggers out, ready to spring. But. . .she still didn't have any
real proof. The part of her that Kelsier had transformed, the part that had
come to trust, thought of the Demoux she knew.
Do I really believe he's the kandra? she thought. Or do I just want him to
be the kandra, so that I don't have to suspect my real friends?
He continued to walk below, her tin-enhanced ears easily picking out his
footfalls. Behind, OreSeur scrambled up onto the top of the roof, then
padded over and sat down beside her.
I can't just attack, she thought. I need to at least watch, see where he's
going. Get proof. Perhaps learn something in the process.
She waved to OreSeur, and they quietly followed along the rooftops,
trailing Demoux. Soon, Vin noticed something odd—a flicker of firelight
illuminating the mists a few streets over, making haunted s1hadows of
buildings. Vin glanced at Demoux, trailing him with her eyes as he
wandered down an alleyway, moving toward the illumination.
What. . .?
Vin threw herself off the roof. It took only three bounds for her to reach
the source of the light. A modest bonfire crackled in the center of a small
square. Skaa huddled around it for warmth, looking a little frightened in the
mists. Vin was surprised to see them. She hadn't seen skaa go out in the
mists since the night of the Collapse.
Demoux approached down a side street, greeting several of the others. In
the firelight she could confirm for certain that it was him—or, at least, a
kandra with his face.
There were, perhaps, two hundred people in the square. Demoux moved
as if to sit on the cobblestones, but someone quickly approached with a
chair. A young woman brought him a mug of something steaming, which he
received gratefully.
Vin leaped to a rooftop, staying low to keep from being exposed by the
firelight. More skaa arrived, mostly in groups, but some brave individuals
came alone.
A sound came from behind her, and Vin turned as OreSeur—apparently
having barely made the jump—scrambled the last few feet over the edge
onto the roof. He glanced down at the street below, shook his head, then
padded over to join her. She raised a finger to her lips, nodding down at the
growing group of people. OreSeur cocked his head at the sight, but said
nothing.
Finally, Demoux stood, holding the still steaming cup in his hands.
People gathered around, sitting on the cold cobblestones, huddled beneath
blankets or cloaks.
"We shouldn't fear the mists, my friends," Demoux said. His wasn't the
voice of a strong leader or forceful battle commander—it was the voice of
hardened youth, a little hesitant, but compelling nonetheless.
"The Survivor taught us of this," he continued. "I know it's very hard to
think of the mists without remembering stories of mistwraiths or other
horrors. But, the Survivor gave the mists to us. We should try and remember
him, through them."
Lord Ruler. . .Vin thought with shock. He's one of them—a member of the
Church of the Survivor! She wavered, uncertain what to think. Was he the
kandra or wasn't he? Why would the kandra meet with a group of people
like this? But. . .why would Demoux himself do it?
"I know it's hard," Demoux said below, "without the Survivor. I know
you're afraid of the armies. Trust me, I know. I see them too. I know you
suffer beneath this siege. I. . .don't know if I can even tell you not to worry.
The Survivor himself knew great hardship—the death of his wife, his
imprisonment in the Pits of Hathsin. But he survived. That's the point, isn't
it? We have to live on, no matter how hard this all gets. We'll win, in the
end. Just like he did."
He stood with his mug in his hands, looking nothing like the skaa
preachers Vin had seen. Kelsier had chosen a passionate man to found his
religion—or, more precisely, to found the revolution the religion had come
from. Kelsier had needed leaders who could enflame supporters, whip them
up into a destructive upheaval.
Demoux was something different. He didn't shout, but spoke calmly. Yet,
people paid attention. They sat on the stones around him, looking up with
hopeful—even worshipful—eyes.
"The Lady Heir," one of them whispered. "What of her?"
"Lady Vin bears a great responsibilit1y," Demoux said. "You can see the
weight bowing her down, and how frustrated she is with the problems in the
city. She is a straightforward woman, and I don't think she likes the
Assembly's politicking."
"But, she'll protect us, right?" one asked.
"Yes," Demoux said. "Yes, I believe she will. Sometimes, I think that
she's even more powerful than the Survivor was. You know that he only had
two years to practice as a Mistborn? She's barely had that much time
herself."
Vin turned away. It comes back to that, she thought. They sound rational
until they talk about me, and then. . .
"She'll bring us peace, someday," Demoux said. "The heir will bring back
the sun, stop the ash from falling. But we have to survive until then. And
we have to fight. The Survivor's entire work was to see the Lord Ruler dead
and make us free. What gratitude do we show if we run now that armies
have come?
"Go and tell your Assemblymen that you don't want Lord Cett, or even
Lord Penrod, to be your king. The vote happens in one day, and we need to
make certain the right man is made king. The Survivor chose Elend
Venture, and that is whom we must follow."
That's new, Vin thought.
"Lord Elend is weak," one of the people said. "He won't defend us."
"Lady Vin loves him," Demoux said. "She wouldn't love a weak man.
Penrod and Cett treat you like the skaa used to be treated, and that's why
you think they're strong. But that's not strength—it's oppression. We have to
be better than that! We have to trust the Survivor's judgment!"
Vin relaxed against the lip of the roof, tension melting a bit. If Demoux
really was the spy, then he wasn't going to give her any evidence this night.
So, she put her knives away, then rested with her arms folded on the
rooftop's edge. The fire crackled in the cool winter evening, sending billows
of smoke to mix with the mists, and Demoux continued to speak in his
quiet, reassuring voice, teaching the people about Kelsier.
It's not even really a religion, Vin thought as she listened. The theology is
so simple—not at all like the complex beliefs that Sazed speaks about.
Demoux taught basic concepts. He held up Kelsier as a model, talking
about survival, and about enduring hardships. Vin could see why the direct
words would appeal to the skaa. The people really only had two choices: to
struggle on, or to give up. Demoux's teachings gave them an excuse to keep
living.
The skaa didn't need rituals, prayers, or codes. Not yet. They were too
inexperienced with religion in general, too frightened of it, to want such
things. But, the more she listened, the more Vin understood the Church of
the Survivor. It was what they needed; it took what the skaa already knew—
a life filled with hardship—and elevated it to a higher, more optimistic
plane.
And the teachings were still evolving. The deification of Kelsier she had
expected; even the reverence for her was understandable. But, where did
Demoux get the promises that Vin would stop the ash and bring back the
sun? How did he know to preach of green grasses and blue skies, describing
the world as it was known only in some of the world's most obscure texts?
He described a strange world of colors and beauty—a place foreign and
difficult to conceive, but somehow wonderful all the same. Flowers and
green plants were strange, alien things to these people; even Vin had trouble
visualizing them, and s1he had heard Sazed's descriptions.
Demoux was giving the skaa a paradise. It had to be something
completely removed from normal experience, for the mundane world was
not a place of hope. Not with a foodless winter approaching, not with
armies threatening and the government in turmoil.
Vin pulled back as Demoux finally ended the meeting. She lay for a
moment, trying to decide how she felt. She'd been near certain about
Demoux, but now her suspicions seemed unfounded. He'd gone out at night,
true, but she saw now what he was doing. Plus, he'd acted so suspiciously
when sneaking out. It seemed to her, as she reflected, that a kandra would
know how to go about things in a much more natural way.
It's not him, she thought. Or, if it is, he's not going to be as easy to
unmask as I thought. She frowned in frustration. Finally, she just sighed,
rising, and walked to the other side of the roof. OreSeur followed, and Vin
glanced at him. "When Kelsier told you to take his body," she said, "what
did he want you to preach to these people?"
"Mistress?" OreSeur asked.
"He had you appear, as if you were him returned from the grave."
"Yes."
"Well, what did he have you say?"
OreSeur shrugged. "Very simple things, Mistress. I told them that the
time for rebellion had arrived. I told them that I—Kelsier—had returned to
give them hope for victory."
I represent that thing you've never been able to kill, no matter how hard
you try. They had been Kelsier's final words, spoken face-to-face with the
Lord Ruler. I am hope.
I am hope.
Was it any wonder that this concept would become central to the church
that sprang up around him? "Did he have you teach things like we just
heard Demoux say?" Vin asked. "About the ash no longer falling, and the
sun turning yellow?"
"No, Mistress."
"That's what I thought," Vin said as she heard rustling on the stones
below. She glanced over the side of the building, and saw Demoux
returning to the palace.
Vin dropped to the alleyway floor behind him. To the man's credit, he
heard her, and he spun, hand on dueling cane.
"Peace, Captain," she said, rising.
"Lady Vin?" he asked with surprise.
She nodded, approaching closer so that he'd be able to see her better in
the night. Fading torchlight still lit the air from behind, swirls of mist
playing with shadows.
"I didn't know you were a member of the Church of the Survivor," she
said softly.
He looked down. Though he was easily two hands taller than she, he
seemed to shrink a bit before her. "I. . .I know it makes you uncomfortable.
I'm sorry."
"It's all right," she said. "You do a good thing for the people. Elend will
appreciate hearing of your loyalty."
Demoux looked up. "Do you have to tell him?"
"He needs to know what the people believe, Captain. Why would you
want me to keep it quiet?"
Demoux sighed. "I just. . .I don't want the crew to think I'm out here
pandering to the people. Ham thinks preaching about the Survivor is silly,
and Lord Breeze says the only reason to e1ncourage the church is to make
people more pliant."
Vin regarded him in the darkness. "You really believe, don't you?"
"Yes, my lady."
"But you knew Kelsier," she said. "You were with us from near the
beginning. You know he's no god."
Demoux looked up, a bit of a challenge in his eyes. "He died to
overthrow the Lord Ruler."
"That doesn't make him divine."
"He taught us how to survive, to have hope."
"You survived before," Vin said. "People had hope before Kelsier got
thrown in those pits."
"Not like we do now," Demoux said. "Besides. . .he had power, my lady.
I felt it."
Vin paused. She knew the story; Kelsier had used Demoux as an example
to the rest of the army in a fight with a skeptic, directing his blows with
Allomancy, making Demoux seem as if he had supernatural powers.
"Oh, I know about Allomancy now," Demoux said. "But. . .I felt him
Pushing on my sword that day. I felt him use me, making me more than I
was. I think I can still feel him, sometimes. Strengthening my arm, guiding
my blade. . .."
Vin frowned. "Do you remember the first time we met?"
Demoux nodded. "Yes. You came to the caverns where we were hiding
on the day when the army was destroyed. I was on guard duty. You know,
my lady—even then, I knew that Kelsier would come for us. I knew that
he'd come and get those of us who had been faithful and guide us back to
Luthadel."
He went to those caves because I forced him to. He wanted to get himself
killed fighting an army on his own.
"The destruction of the army was a test," Demoux said, looking up into
the mists. "These armies. . .the siege. . .they're just tests. To see if we will
survive or not."
"And the ash?" Vin asked. "Where did you hear that it would stop
falling?"
Demoux turned back to her. "The Survivor taught that, didn't he?"
Vin shook her head.
"A lot of the people are saying it," Demoux said. "It must be true. It fits
with everything else—the yellow sun, the blue sky, the plants. . .."
"Yes, but where did you first hear those things?"
"I'm not sure, my lady."
Where did you hear that I would be the one to bring them about? she
thought, but she somehow couldn't bring herself to voice the question.
Regardless, she knew the answer: Demoux wouldn't know. Rumors were
propagating. It would be difficult indeed to trace them back to their source
now.
"Go back to the palace," Vin said. "I have to tell Elend what I saw, but I'll
ask him not to tell the rest of the crew."
"Thank you, my lady," Demoux said, bowing. He turned and hurried
away. A second later, Vin heard a thump from behind: OreSeur, jumping
down to the street.
She turned. "I was sure it was him."
"Mistress?"
"The kandra," Vin said, turning back toward the disappearing Demoux. "I
thought I'd discovered him."
"And?"
She shook her head.1 "It's like Dockson—I think Demoux knows too
much to be faking. He feels. . .real to me."
"My brethren—"
"Are quite skilled," Vin said with a sigh. "Yes, I know. But we're not
going to arrest him. Not tonight, at least. We'll keep an eye on him, but I
just don't think it's him anymore."
OreSeur nodded.
"Come on," she said. "I want to check on Elend."
And so, I come to the focus of my argument. I apologize. Even forcing my
words into steel, sitting and scratching in this frozen cave, I am prone to
ramble.
37
SAZED GLANCED AT THE WINDOW SHUTTERS, noting the
hesitant beams of light that were beginning to shine through the cracks.
Morning already? he thought. We studied all night? It hardly seemed
possible. He had tapped no wakefulness, yet he felt more alert—more alive
—than he had in days.
Tindwyl sat in the chair beside him. Sazed's desk was filled with loose
papers, two sets of ink and pen waiting to be used. There were no books;
Keepers had no need of such.
"Ah!" Tindwyl said, grabbing a pen and beginning to write. She didn't
look tired either, but she had likely dipped into her bronzemind, tapping the
wakefulness stored within.
Sazed watched her write. She almost looked young again; he hadn't seen
such overt excitement in her since she had been abandoned by the Breeders
some ten years before. On that day, her grand work finished, she had finally
joined her fellow Keepers. Sazed had been the one to present her with the
collected knowledge that had been discovered during her thirty years of
cloistered childbirth.
It hadn't taken her long to achieve a place in the Synod. By then,
however, Sazed had been ousted from their ranks.
Tindwyl finished writing. "The passage is from a biography of King
Wednegon," she said. "He was one of the last leaders who resisted the Lord
Ruler in any sort of meaningful combat."
"I know who he was," Sazed said, smiling.
She paused. "Of course." She obviously wasn't accustomed to studying
with someone who had access to as much information as she did. She
pushed the written passage over to Sazed; even with his mental indexes and
self-notes, it would be faster for her to write out the passage than it would
be for him to try and find it within his own copperminds.
I spent a great deal of time with the king during his final weeks, the text
read.
He seemed frustrated, as one might imagine. His soldiers
could not stand against the Conqueror's koloss, and his men
had been beaten back repeatedly ever since FellSpire.
However, the king didn't blame his soldiers. He thought that
his problems came from another source: food.
He mentioned this idea several times during those last days.
He thought that if he'd had more food, he could have held
out. In this, Wednegon blamed the Deepness. For, though the
Deepness had been defeated—or at least weakened—its
touch had depleted Darrelnai's food stores.
His people could not both raise food and resist the
Conqueror's demon armies. In the e1nd, that was why they
fell.
Sazed nodded slowly. "How much of this text do we have?"
"Not much," Tindwyl said. "Six or seven pages. This is the only section
that mentions the Deepness."
Sazed sat quietly for a moment, rereading the passage. Finally, he looked
up at Tindwyl. "You think Lady Vin is right, don't you? You think the
Deepness was mist."
Tindwyl nodded.
"I agree," Sazed said. "At the very least, what we now call 'the Deepness'
was some sort of change in the mist."
"And your arguments from before?"
"Proven wrong," Sazed said, setting down the paper. "By your words and
my own studies. I did not wish this to be true, Tindwyl."
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. "You defied the Synod again to seek after
something you didn't even want to believe?"
He looked into her eyes. "There is a difference between fearing
something and desiring it. The return of the Deepness could destroy us. I
did not want this information—but neither could I pass by the opportunity
to discover it."
Tindwyl looked away. "I do not believe that this will destroy us, Sazed.
You have made a grand discovery, that I will admit. The writings of the man
Kwaan tell us much. Indeed, if the Deepness was the mists, then our
understanding of the Lord Ruler's Ascension has been enhanced greatly."
"And if the mists are growing stronger?" Sazed asked. "If, by killing the
Lord Ruler, we also destroyed whatever force was keeping the mists
chained?"
"We have no proof that the mists are coming by day," Tindwyl said. "And
on the possibility of them killing people, we have only your hesitant
theories."
Sazed glanced away. On the table, his fingers had smudged Tindwyl's
hurriedly written words. "That is true," he said.
Tindwyl sighed softly in the dim room. "Why do you never defend
yourself, Sazed?"
"What defense is there?"
"There must be some. You apologize and ask forgiveness, but your
apparent guilt never seems to change your behavior! Do you never think
that, perhaps, if you had been more outspoken, you might be leading the
Synod? They cast you out because you refused to offer arguments on your
own behalf. You're the most contrite rebel I've ever known."
Sazed didn't respond. He glanced to the side, seeing her concerned eyes.
Beautiful eyes. Foolish thoughts, he told himself, looking away. You've
always known that. Some things were meant for others, but never for you.
"You were right about the Lord Ruler, Sazed," Tindwyl said. "Perhaps the
others would have followed you if you had been just a little more. .
.insistent."
Sazed shook his head. "I am not a man from one of your biographies,
Tindwyl. I am not even, really, a man."
"You are a better man than they, Sazed," Tindwyl said quietly. "The
frustrating part is, I've never been able to figure out why."
They fell silent. Sazed rose and walked to the window, opening the
shutters, letting in the light. Then he extinguished the room's lamp.
"I will leave today," Tindwyl said.
"Leave?" Sazed asked. "The armies1 might not let you pass."
"I wasn't going to pass them, Sazed. I plan to visit them. I have given
knowledge to young Lord Venture; I need to offer the same aid to his
opponents."
"Ah," Sazed said. "I see. I should have realized this."
"I doubt they will listen as he has," Tindwyl said, a hint of fondness
slipping into her voice. "Venture is a fine man."
"A fine king," Sazed said.
Tindwyl didn't respond. She looked at the table, with its scattered
notations, each drawn from one or another of their copperminds, scribbled
in haste, then shown and reread.
What was this night, then? This night of study, this night sharing thoughts
and discoveries?
She was still beautiful. Auburn hair graying, but kept long and straight.
Face marked by a lifetime of hardship that had not broken her. And eyes. .
.keen eyes, with the knowledge and love of learning that only a Keeper
could claim.
I should not consider these things, Sazed thought again. There is no
purpose to them. There never was. "You must go, then," he said, turning.
"Again, you refuse to argue," she said.
"What would be the point of argument? You are a wise and determined
person. You must be guided by your own conscience."
"Sometimes, people only seem determined upon one course because they
have been offered no other options."
Sazed turned toward her. The room was quiet, the only sounds coming
from the courtyard below. Tindwyl sat half in sunlight, her bright robes
slowly growing more illuminated as the shadows fell away. She seemed to
be implying something, something he had not expected to ever hear from
her.
"I am confused," he said, sitting back down in a slow motion. "What of
your duty as a Keeper?"
"It is important," she admitted. "But. . .certain, occasional exceptions
must be allowed. This rubbing you found. . .well, perhaps it merits further
study before I depart."
Sazed watched her, trying to read her eyes. What is it I feel? he
wondered. Confused? Dumbfounded?
Afraid?
"I cannot be what you wish, Tindwyl," he said. "I am not a man."
She waved her hand indifferently. "I have had more than enough of 'men'
and childbearing over the years, Sazed. I have done my duty to the Terris
people. I should like to stay away from them for a time, I think. A part of
me resents them, for what was done to me."
He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand. "I know, Sazed. I
took that duty upon myself, and am glad for my service. But. . .during the
years spent alone, meeting with the Keepers only on occasion, I found it
frustrating that all their planning seemed to be directed at maintaining their
status as a conquered people.
"I only ever saw one man pushing the Synod toward active measures.
While they planned how to keep themselves hidden, one man wanted to
attack. While they decided the best ways to foil the Breeders, one man
wanted to plot the downfall of the Final Empire. When I rejoined my
people, I found that man still fighting. Alone. Condemned for fraternizing
with thieves and rebels, he quietly accepted his punishment."
She smiled. "That man went on to free us all."
She took his hand. Sazed sat, astonished.
"The men I read about, Sazed," Tindwyl said quietly, "these were not
men who sat and planned the best ways to hide. They fought; they sought
victory. Sometimes, they were reckless—and other men called them fools.
Yet, when the dice were cast and the bodies counted, they were men who
changed things."
Sunlight entered the room in full, and she sat, cupping his hand in hers.
She seemed. . .anxious. Had he ever seen that emotion in her? She was
strong, the strongest woman he knew. That couldn't possibly be
apprehension he saw in her eyes.
"Give me an excuse, Sazed," she whispered.
"I should. . .very much like it if you stayed," Sazed said, one hand in
hers, the other resting on the tabletop, fingers trembling slightly.
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow.
"Stay," Sazed said. "Please."
Tindwyl smiled. "Very well—you have persuaded me. Let us return to
our studies, then."
Elend walked the top of the city wall in the morning light, sword at his
hip clicking against the side of the stonework with each step.
"You almost look like a king," a voice noted.
Elend turned as Ham climbed the last few steps up to the wall walk. The
air was brisk, frost still crystalline in shadows on the stone. Winter was
approaching. Perhaps it had arrived. Yet, Ham wore no cloak—only his
usual vest, trousers, and sandals.
I wonder if he even knows what it is like to be cold, Elend thought.
Pewter. Such an amazing talent.
"You say I nearly look like a king," Elend said, turning to continue
walking along the wall as Ham joined him. "I guess Tindwyl's clothing has
done wonders for my image."
"I didn't mean the clothing," Ham said. "I was talking about that look on
your face. How long have you been up here?"
"Hours," Elend said. "How did you find me?"
"The soldiers," Ham said. "They're starting to see you as a commander,
Elend. They watch where you are; they stand a little straighter when you're
around, polish their weapons if they know you'll be stopping by."
"I thought you didn't spend much time with them," Elend said.
"Oh, I never said that," Ham said. "I spend lots of time with the soldiers
—I just can't be intimidating enough to be their commander. Kelsier always
wanted me to be a general—I think, deep down, he thought that befriending
people was inferior to leading them. Perhaps he was right; men need
leaders. I just don't want to be one of them."
"I do," Elend said, surprised to hear himself say so.
Ham shrugged. "That's probably a good thing. You are, after all, king."
"Kind of," Elend said.
"You're still wearing the crown."
Elend nodded. "It felt wrong to go without it. It sounds silly, I know—I
only wore it for a short time. But, people need to know that someone is still
in charge. For a few more days at least."
They continued to walk. In the distance, Elend could see a shadow upon
the land: the third army had finally arrived in the wake of the refugees it
had sent. Their scouts we1ren't certain why the koloss force had taken so
long to get to Luthadel. The villagers' sad tale, however, gave some clue.
The koloss had not attacked Straff or Cett. They lay waiting. Apparently,
Jastes had enough control over them to keep them in check. And so they
joined the siege, another beast waiting for the opportunity to spring on
Luthadel.
When you can't have both freedom and safety, which do you choose. . .?
"You seem surprised to realize that you want to be in charge," Ham said.
"I just haven't ever voiced the desire before," Elend said. "It sounds so
arrogant, when I actually say it. I want to be king. I don't want another man
to take my place. Not Penrod, not Cett. . .not anyone. The position is mine.
This city is mine."
"I don't know if 'arrogant' is the right word, El," Ham said. "Why do you
want to be king?"
"To protect this people," Elend said. "To guard their safety—and their
rights. But, also to make certain that the noblemen don't end up on the
wrong end of another rebellion."
"That's not arrogance."
"It is, Ham," Elend said. "But it's an understandable arrogance. I don't
think a man could lead without it. Actually, I think it's what I've been
missing through most of my reign. Arrogance."
"Self-confidence."
"A nicer word for the same concept," Elend said. "I can do a better job
for this people than another man could. I just have to find a way to prove
that fact to them."
"You will."
"You're an optimist, Ham," Elend said.
"So are you," Ham noted.
Elend smiled. "True. But this job is changing me."
"Well, if you want to keep the job, we should probably get back to
studying. We only have one day left."
Elend shook his head. "I've read all I can, Ham. I will not take advantage
of the law, so there's no reason to search for loopholes, and studying other
books looking for inspiration just isn't working. I need time to think. Time
to walk. . .."
They continued to do so. As they did, Elend noticed something out in the
distance. A group of enemy soldiers doing something he couldn't
distinguish. He waved over one of his men.
"What is that?" he asked.
The soldier shaded his eyes, looking. "Looks like another skirmish
between Cett's men and Straff's, Your Majesty."
Elend raised an eyebrow. "That happens often?"
The soldier shrugged. "More and more often, lately. Usually the scouting
patrols run afoul of each other and get into a conflict. Leave a few bodies
behind when they retreat. Nothing big, Your Majesty."
Elend nodded, dismissing the man. Big enough, he thought to himself.
Those armies must be as tense as we are. The soldiers can't enjoy remaining
so long in a siege, particularly with the winter weather.
They were close. The arrival of the koloss would only cause more chaos.
If he shoved right, Straff and Cett would be pushed into a head-on battle. I
just need a little more time! he thought, continuing to walk, Ham at his side.
Yet, first he needed to get his throne back. W1ithout that authority, he
was nothing—and could do nothing.
The problem gnawed at his mind. As the walk continued, however,
something distracted him—this time, something inside the walls rather than
outside of them. Ham was right—the soldiers did stand a little taller when
Elend approached their posts. They saluted him, and he nodded to them,
walking with hand on pommel, as Tindwyl had instructed.
If I do keep my throne, I owe it to that woman, he thought. Of course,
she'd chastise him for that thought. She would tell him that he kept his
throne because he deserved to—because he was king. In changing himself,
he had simply used the resources at hand to overcome his challenges.
He wasn't certain if he'd ever be able to see things that way. But, her final
lesson to him the day before—he somehow knew that it was her last—had
taught him only one new concept: that there was no one mold for kingship.
He would not be like the kings of the past, any more than he would be like
Kelsier.
He would be Elend Venture. His roots were in philosophy, so he would
be remembered as a scholar. He'd best use that to his advantage, or he
wouldn't be remembered at all. No kings could admit their weaknesses, but
they were certainly wise to admit their strengths.
And what are my strengths? he thought. Why should I be the one who
rules this city, and those around it?
Yes, he was a scholar—and an optimist, as Ham had noted. He was no
master duelist, though he was improving. He wasn't an excellent diplomat,
though his meetings with Straff and Cett proved that he could hold his own.
What was he?
A nobleman who loved the skaa. They'd always fascinated him, even
before the Collapse—before he'd met Vin and the others. It had been one of
his pet philosophical puzzles to try and prove them no different from men
of noble birth. It sounded idealistic, even a little prim, when he thought
about it—and, if he was truthful, much of his interest in the skaa before the
Collapse had been academic. They had been unknown, and so they had
seemed exotic and interesting.
He smiled. I wonder what the plantation workers would have thought,
had anyone told them they were "exotic."
But then the Collapse had come—the rebellion predicted in his books and
theories coming to life. His beliefs hadn't been able to continue as mere
academic abstractions. And he'd come to know the skaa—not just Vin and
the crew, but the workers and the servants. He'd seen the hope beginning to
grow within them. He'd seen the awakening of self-respect, and of selfworth, in the people of the city, and it excited him.
He would not abandon them.
That's what I am, Elend thought, pausing as he walked the wall. An
idealist. A melodramatic idealist who, despite his books and learning, never
did make a very good nobleman.
"What?" Ham asked, stopping next to him.
Elend turned toward him. "I've got an idea," he said.
This is the problem. Though I believed in Alendi at first, I later became
suspicious. It seemed that he fit the signs, true. But, well, how can I explain
this?
Could it be that he fit them too well?
38
HOW1 CAN HE POSSIBLY LOOK so confident when I feel so nervous?
Vin thought, standing beside Elend as the Assembly Hall began to fill. They
had arrived early; this time, Elend said he wanted to appear in control by
being the one who greeted each Assemblyman as he arrived.
Today, the vote for king would occur.
Vin and Elend stood on the stage, nodding to the Assemblymen as they
entered through the room's side door. On the floor of the room, the benches
were already growing crowded. The first few rows, as always, were seeded
with guards.
"You look beautiful today," Elend said, looking at Vin.
Vin shrugged. She had worn her white gown, a flowing garment with a
few diaphanous layers on the top. Like the others, it was designed for
mobility, and it matched Elend's new outfits—especially with the dark
embroidery on the sleeves. Her jewelry was gone, but she did have a few
white wooden barrettes for her hair.
"It's odd," she said, "how quickly wearing these gowns became natural
for me again."
"I'm glad you made the switch," Elend said. "The trousers and shirt are
you. . .but this is you, too. The part of you I remember from the balls, when
we barely knew each other."
Vin smiled wistfully, looking up at him, the gathering crowd growing a
bit more distant. "You never did dance with me."
"I'm sorry," he said, holding her arm with a light touch. "We haven't had
much time for each other lately, have we?"
Vin shook her head.
"I'll fix that," Elend said. "Once this confusion is all through, once the
throne is secure, we can get back to us."
Vin nodded, then turned sharply as she noticed movement behind her. An
Assemblyman walking across the stage.
"You're jumpy," Elend said, frowning slightly. "Even more than usual.
What am I missing?"
Vin shook her head. "I don't know."
Elend greeted the Assemblyman—one of the skaa representatives—with
a firm handshake. Vin stood at his side, her earlier wistfulness evaporating
like mist as her mind returned to the moment. What is bothering me?
The room was packed—everyone wanted to witness the events of the
day. Elend had been forced to post guards at the doors to maintain order.
But, it wasn't just the number of people that made her edgy. It was a sense
of. . .wrongness to the event. People were gathering like carrion feeders to a
rotting carcass.
"This isn't right," Vin said, holding Elend's arm as the Assemblyman
moved off. "Governments shouldn't change hands based on arguments
made from a lectern."
"Just because it hasn't happened that way in the past doesn't mean it
shouldn't happen," Elend said.
Vin shook her head. "Something is going to go wrong, Elend. Cett will
surprise you, and maybe Penrod will, too. Men like them won't sit still and
let a vote decide their future."
"I know," Elend said. "But they aren't the only ones who can offer up
surprises."
Vin looked at him quizzically. "You're planning something?"
He paused, then glanced at her. "I. . .well, Ham and I came up with
something last night. A ploy. I've been trying to find a way to talk to you
about it, but there just hasn't been time. We had t1o move quickly."
Vin frowned, sensing his apprehension. She started to say something, but
then stopped, studying his eyes. He seemed a little embarrassed. "What?"
she asked.
"Well. . .it kind of involves you, and your reputation. I was going to ask
permission, but. . ."
Vin felt a slight chill. Behind them, the last Assemblyman took his seat,
and Penrod stood up to conduct the meeting. He glanced toward Elend,
clearing his throat.
Elend cursed quietly. "Look, I don't have time to explain," he said. "But,
it's really not a big deal—it might not even get me that many votes. But,
well, I had to try. And it doesn't change anything. Between us, I mean."
"What?"
"Lord Venture?" Penrod said. "Are you ready for this meeting to begin?"
The hall grew quiet. Vin and Elend still stood in the center of the stage,
between the lectern and the seats of the Assembly members. She looked at
him, torn between a sense of dread, a sense of confusion, and a slight sense
of betrayal.
Why didn't you tell me? she thought. How can I be ready if you don't tell
me what you're planning? And. . .why are you looking at me like that?
"I'm sorry," Elend said, moving over to take his seat.
Vin remained standing alone before the audience. Once, so much
attention would have terrified her. It still made her uncomfortable. She
ducked her head slightly, walking toward the back benches and her empty
spot.
Ham wasn't there. Vin frowned, turning as Penrod opened the
proceedings. There, she thought, finding Ham in the audience, sitting
calmly with a group of skaa. The group was obviously conversing quietly,
but even with tin, Vin would never be able to pick out their voices in the
large crowd. Breeze stood with some of Ham's soldiers at the back of the
room. It didn't matter if they knew about Elend's plan—they were too far
away for her to interrogate them.
Annoyed, she arranged her skirts, then sat. She hadn't felt so blind since. .
.
Since that night a year ago, she thought, that moment just before we
figured out Kelsier's true plan, that moment when I thought everything was
collapsing around me.
Perhaps that was a good sign. Had Elend cooked up some last-minute
flash of political brilliance? It didn't really matter that he hadn't shared it
with her; she probably wouldn't understand the legal basis for it anyway.
But. . .he always shared his plans with me before.
Penrod continued to drone on, likely maximizing his time in front of the
Assembly. Cett was on the front bench of the audience, surrounded by a
good twenty soldiers, sitting with a look of self-satisfaction. As well he
should. From the accounts she'd heard, Cett stood to take the vote with ease.
But what was Elend planning?
Penrod will vote for himself, Vin thought. So will Elend. That leaves
twenty-two votes. The merchants are behind Cett, and so are the skaa.
They're too afraid of that army to vote for anyone else.
That only leaves the nobility. Some of them will vote for Penrod—he's the
strongest nobleman in the city; many of the members of the Assembly are
longtime political allies of his. But, even if he takes half of the nobility—
which he probably won't—1Cett will win. Cett only needs a two-thirds
majority to get the throne.
Eight merchants, eight skaa. Sixteen men on Cett's side. He was going to
win. What could Elend possibly do?
Penrod finally finished his opening announcements. "But, before we
vote," he said, "I would like to offer time to the candidates to make any
final addresses they wish. Lord Cett, would you care to go first?"
In the audience, Cett shook his head. "I've made my offers and my
threats, Penrod. You all know you have to vote for me."
Vin frowned. He seemed certain of himself, and yet. . .She scanned the
crowd, eyes falling on Ham. He was talking to Captain Demoux. And
seated next to them was one of the men who had followed her in the
market. A priest of the Survivor.
Vin turned, studying the Assembly. The skaa representatives looked
uncomfortable. She glanced at Elend, who stood up to take his turn at the
front of the lectern. His earlier confidence had returned, and he looked regal
in his sharp white uniform. He still wore his crown.
It doesn't change things, he'd said. Between us. . ..
I'm sorry.
Something that would use her reputation to gain him votes. Her
reputation was Kelsier's reputation, and only the skaa really cared about
that. And there was one easy way to gain influence with them. . ..
"You joined the Church of the Survivor, didn't you?" she whispered.
The reactions of the skaa Assemblymen, the logic of the moment, Elend's
words to her before, all of them suddenly made sense. If Elend joined the
Church, the skaa Assemblymen might be afraid to vote against him. And,
Elend didn't need sixteen votes to gain the throne; if the Assembly
deadlocked, he won. With the eight skaa and his own vote, the others would
never be able to oust him.
"Very clever," she whispered.
The ploy might not work. It would depend on how much hold the Church
of the Survivor had on the skaa Assemblymen. Yet, even if some skaa voted
against Elend, there were still the noblemen who would probably vote for
Penrod. If enough did, Elend would still deadlock the Assembly and keep
his throne.
All it would cost was his integrity.
That's unfair, Vin told herself. If Elend had joined with the Church of the
Survivor, he would hold to whatever promises he had made. And, if the
Church of the Survivor gained official backing, it could become as powerful
in Luthadel as the Steel Ministry had once been. And. . .how would that
change the way Elend saw her?
This doesn't change anything, he had promised.
She dully heard him begin to speak, and his references to Kelsier now
seemed obvious to her. Yet, the only thing she could feel was a slight sense
of anxiety. It was as Zane had said. She was the knife—a different kind of
knife, but still a tool. The means by which Elend would protect the city.
She should be furious, or at least sick. Why did her eyes keep darting
toward the crowd? Why couldn't she focus on what Elend was saying, on
how he was elevating her? Why was she suddenly so on edge?
Why were those men subtly moving their way around the edges of the
room?
"So," Elend said, "by the blessing of the Survivor himself, I ask you to
vote for me."
He waited quietly. It was a drastic move; joining the Church of the
Survivor put Elend under the spiritual authority of an external group. But,
Ham and Demoux both had thought it a good idea. Elend had spent the
better part of the previous day getting the word out to the skaa citizens
about his decision.
It felt like a good move. The only thing he worried about was Vin. He
glanced at her. She didn't like her place in the Church of the Survivor, and
having Elend join it meant that he—technically—accepted her part in the
mythology. He tried to catch her eye and smile, but she wasn't watching
him. She was looking out into the audience.
Elend frowned. Vin stood up.
A man from the audience suddenly shoved aside two soldiers in the front
row, then leaped supernaturally far to land up on the dais. The man pulled
out a dueling cane.
What? Elend thought in shock. Fortunately, months spent sparring at
Tindwyl's command had given him instincts he didn't know he had. As the
Thug charged, Elend tucked and rolled. He hit the ground, scrambling, and
turned to see the beefy man bearing down on him, dueling cane raised.
A flurry of white lace and skirts fluttered through the air over Elend. Vin
slammed feet-first into the Thug, throwing him backward as she spun, skirts
flaring.
The man grunted. Vin landed with a thump directly in front of Elend. The
Assembly Hall echoed with sudden screaming and shouts.
Vin kicked the lectern out of the way. "Stay behind me," she whispered,
an obsidian dagger glittering in her right hand.
Elend nodded hesitantly, unbuckling the sword at his waist as he climbed
to his feet. The Thug wasn't alone; three small groups of armed men were
moving through the room. One attacked the front row, distracting the guards
there. Another group was climbing onto the dais. The third group seemed
occupied by something in the crowd. Cett's soldiers.
The Thug had regained his feet. He didn't look like he had suffered much
from Vin's kick.
Assassins, Elend thought. But who sent them?
The man smiled as he was joined by a group of five friends. Chaos filled
the room, Assemblymen scattering, their bodyguards rushing to surround
them. Yet, the fighting in front of the stage kept anyone from escaping in
that direction. The Assemblymen clogged around the stage's side exit. The
attackers, however, didn't seem concerned with them.
Only with Elend.
Vin remained in her crouch, waiting for the men to attack first, her
posture threatening despite the frilly dress. Elend thought he actually heard
her growl quietly.
The men attacked.
Vin snapped forward, swiping at the lead Thug with a dagger. His reach
was too great, however, and he easily fended her off with a swipe of his
staff. There were six men in total; three who were obviously Thugs, leaving
the other three to likely be Coinshots or Lurchers. A strong component of
metal-controllers. Someone didn't want her ending this fight quickly with
coins.
They didn't understand that she would never use coins in this situation.
Not with Elend standing so close and with so many people in the room.
Coins couldn't be deflected safely. If she shot a handful at her enemies,
random people would die.
She had to kill these men fast. They were already fanning out,
1surrounding her and Elend. They moved in pairs—one Thug and one
Coinshot in each team. They would attack from the sides, trying to get past
her to Elend.
Vin reached behind herself with iron, Pulling Elend's sword from its
sheath with a ringing squeal. She caught it by the hilt, throwing it at one of
the teams. The Coinshot Pushed it back at her, and she in turn Pushed it to
the side, spinning it toward a second pair of Allomancers.
One of them Pushed it back at her again. Vin Pulled from behind,
whipping Elend's metal-tipped sheath out of his hands and shooting it
through the air by its clasp. Sheath passed sword in the air. This time, the
enemy Coinshots Pushed both items out of the way, deflecting them toward
the fleeing audience.
Men shouted in desperation as they trampled and tried to force their way
out of the room. Vin gritted her teeth. She needed a better weapon.
She flung a stone dagger at one assassin pair, then jumped toward
another, spinning beneath the attacking Thug's weapon. The Coinshot didn't
have any metal on him that she could sense; he was just there to keep her
from killing the Thug with coins. They probably assumed that Vin would be
easy to defeat, as she was deprived of the ability to shoot coins.
The Thug brought his staff back around, trying to catch her with the end.
She caught the weapon, yanking it forward and jumping up as she Pushed
against the Assembly bleachers behind her. Her feet hit the Thug in the
chest, and she kicked hard with flared pewter. As he grunted, Vin Pulled
herself back toward the nails in the bleachers as hard as she could.
The Thug managed to stay on his feet. He seemed completely surprised,
however, to find Vin streaking away from him, holding his staff in her
hands.
She landed and spun toward Elend. He'd found himself a weapon—a
dueling cane—and had the good sense to back himself against a wall. To
her right, some of the Assemblymen stood in a huddle, surrounded by their
guards. The room was too full, the exits too small and cramped, for them all
to escape.
The Assemblymen made no moves to help Elend.
One of the assassins cried out, pointing as Vin Pushed against the
bleachers and shot toward them, moving herself in front of Elend. Two
Thugs raised their weapons as Vin turned in the air, lightly Pulling against a
door's hinges to spin herself. Her gown fluttered as she landed.
I really have to thank that dressmaker, she thought as she raised the staff.
She briefly considered ripping the dress free anyway, but the Thugs were
upon her too quickly. She blocked both blows at once, then threw herself
between the men, flaring pewter, moving faster than even they.
One of them cursed, trying to bring his staff around. Vin broke his leg
before he could. He dropped with a howl, and Vin leaped onto his back,
forcing him to the ground as she swung an overhand blow at the second
Thug. He blocked, then shoved his weapon against hers to throw her back
off his companion.
Elend attacked. The king's actions, however, seemed sluggish compared
with the movements of men burning pewter. The Thug turned almost
nonchalantly, smashing Elend's weapon with an easy blow.
Vin cursed as she fell. She hurled her staff at the Thug, forcing him to
turn away from Elend. He barely ducked out of the way as Vin hit the
ground, bounced to her feet, and whipped out a second dagger. She dashed
forward before the Thug could turn back to Elend.
A spray1 of coins flew toward her. She couldn't Push them back, not
toward the crowd. She cried out—throwing herself between the coins and
Elend—then Pushed to the sides, dividing them as best she could so they
sprayed against the wall. Even so, she felt a flash of pain from her shoulder.
Where did he get the coins? she thought with frustration. However, as she
glanced to the side, she saw the Coinshot standing beside a cowering
Assemblyman, who had been forced to give up his coin pouch.
Vin gritted her teeth. Her arm still worked. That was all that mattered.
She yelled and threw herself at the closest Thug. However, the third Thug
had regained his weapon—the one Vin had thrown—and was now circling
with his Coinshot to try and get behind Vin.
One at a time, Vin thought.
The Thug nearest her swung his weapon. She needed to surprise him. So,
she didn't dodge or block. She simply took his blow in the side, burning
duralumin and pewter to resist. Something cracked, within her as she was
hit, but with duralumin, she was strong enough to stay up. Wood shattered,
and she continued forward, slamming her dagger into the Thug's neck.
He dropped, revealing a surprised Coinshot behind him. Vin's pewter
evaporated with the duralumin, and pain blossomed like a sunrise in her
side. Even so, she yanked her dagger free as the Thug fell, still moving
quickly enough to drop the Coinshot with a dagger in the chest.
Then she stumbled, gasping quietly, holding her side as two men died at
her feet.
One Thug left, she thought desperately. And two Coinshots.
Elend needs me. To the side, she saw one of the Coinshots fire a spray of
stolen coins at Elend. She cried out, Pushing them away, and she heard the
Coinshot cursing.
She turned—counting on the blue lines from her steel to warn her if the
Coinshots tried shooting anything else at Elend—and ripped her backup
vial of metal from her sleeve, where it had been tied tightly to keep it from
being Pulled away. However, even as she yanked the stopper open, the vial
lurched from her now undexterous hand. The second Coinshot grinned as
he Pushed the vial away, tipping it and spraying its contents across the floor.
Vin growled, but her mind was growing fuzzy. She needed pewter.
Without it, the large coin wound in her shoulder—its blood turning her lacy
sleeve red—and the crushing pain in her side were too much. She almost
couldn't think.
A staff swung toward her head. She jerked to the side, rolling. However,
she no longer had the grace or speed of pewter. A normal man's blow she
could have dodged, but the attack of an Allomancer was another thing.
I shouldn't have burned duralumin! she thought. It had been a gamble,
letting her kill two assassins, but it had left her too exposed. The staff
descended toward her.
Something large slammed into the Thug, bearing him to the ground in a
growling flurry of claws. Vin came out of her dodge as the Thug punched
OreSeur in the head, cracking his skull. Yet, the Thug was bleeding and
cursing, and his staff had rolled free. Vin snatched it up, scrambling to her
feet and gritting her teeth as she drove the butt of the staff down into the
man's face. He took the blow with a curse, swiping her feet out from under
her with a kick.
She fell beside OreSeur. The wolfhound, oddly, was smiling. There was a
wound in his shoulder.
No, n1ot a wound. An opening in the flesh—and a vial of metal hidden
inside. Vin snatched it, rolling, keeping it hidden as the Thug regained his
feet. She downed the liquid, and the flakes of metal it contained. On the
floor before her, she could see the shadow of the Thug raising his weapon in
a mighty overhand blow.
Pewter flared to life inside of her, and her wounds became mere annoying
buzzes. She jerked to the side as the blow fell, hitting the floor, throwing up
bits of wood. Vin flipped to her feet, slamming her fist into the arm of her
surprised opponent.
It wasn't enough to break the bones, but it obviously hurt. The Thug—
now missing two teeth—grunted in pain. To the side, Vin saw OreSeur on
his feet, his dog's jaw hanging unnaturally. He nodded to her; the Thug
would think him dead from the cracked skull.
More coins flew at Elend. She Pushed them away without even looking.
In front of her, OreSeur struck the Thug from behind, making him spin in
surprise just as Vin attacked. The Thug's staff passed within a finger's width
of her head as it smashed into OreSeur's back, but her own hand took the
man in the face. She didn't punch, however; that wouldn't do much against a
Thug.
She had one finger out, and she had incredible aim. The Thug's eye
popped as she rammed her finger into the socket.
She hopped back as he cried out, raising a hand to his face. She smashed
her fists into his chest, throwing him to the ground, then jumped over
OreSeur's crumpled form and grabbed her dagger off the ground.
The Thug died, clutching his face in agony, her dagger in his chest.
Vin spun, searching desperately for Elend. He'd taken one of the fallen
Thugs' weapons and was fending off the two remaining Coinshots, who had
apparently grown frustrated by her Pushing away all of their coin attacks.
Instead, they had pulled out dueling canes to attack him directly. Elend's
training had apparently been enough to keep him alive—but only because
his opponents had to keep an eye on Vin to make certain she didn't try using
coins herself.
Vin kicked up the staff of the man she'd just killed, catching it. A
Coinshot cried out as she growled and dashed toward them, spinning her
weapon. One had the presence of mind to Push off the bleachers and launch
himself away. Vin's weapon still caught him in midair, throwing him to the
side. The next swing took down his companion, who had tried to dash
away.
Elend stood breathing heavily, his costume disheveled.
He did better than I thought he would, Vin admitted, flexing, trying to
judge the damage to her side. She needed to get a bandage on that shoulder.
The coin hadn't hit bone, but the bleeding would—
"Vin!" Elend cried out.
Something very strong suddenly grabbed her from behind. Vin choked as
she was jerked backward and thrown to the ground.
The first Thug. She'd broken his leg, then forgotten—
He got his hands around her neck, squeezing as he knelt above her, his
legs pressing against her chest, his face wild with rage. His eyes bulged,
adrenaline mixing with pewter.
Vin gasped for breath. She was taken back to years before, to beatings
performed by men looming above her. Camon, and Reen, and a dozen
others.
No! she thought, flaring her pewter, struggling. He had her pinned,
however, and he was much larger then she was. Much stronger. Elend
s1lammed his staff against the man's back, but the Thug barely even
flinched.
Vin couldn't breathe. She felt her throat being crushed. She tried to pry
the Thug's hands apart, but it was as Ham had always said. Her small size
was a great advantage to her in most situations—but when it came down to
brute strength, she was no match for a man of bulk and muscle. She tried
Pulling herself to the side, but the man's grip was too strong, her weight too
small compared with his.
She struggled in vain. She had duralumin still—burning it only made
other metals vanish, not the duralumin itself—but last time that had nearly
gotten her killed. If she didn't take the Thug down quickly, she'd be left
without pewter once again.
Elend pounded, yelling for help, but his voice sounded distant. The Thug
pressed his face almost up against Vin's, and she could see his fury. At that
moment, incredibly, a thought occurred to her.
Where have I seen this man before?
Her vision darkened. However, as the Thug constricted his grip, he
leaned closer, closer, closer. . ..
She didn't have a choice. Vin burned duralumin and flared her pewter.
She flung her opponent's hands aside and smashed her head upward into his
face.
The man's head exploded as easily as the eyeball had earlier.
Vin gasped for breath and pushed the headless corpse off her. Elend
stumbled back, his suit and face sprayed red. Vin stumbled to her feet. Her
vision swam as her pewter dissipated—but even through that, she could see
an emotion on Elend's face, stark as the blood on his brilliant white
uniform.
Horror.
No, she thought, her mind fading. Please, Elend, not that. . ..
She fell forward, unable to maintain consciousness.
Elend sat in his ruined suit, hands against forehead, the wreckage of the
Assembly Hall hauntingly empty around him.
"She'll live," Ham said. "She actually isn't hurt that badly. Or. . .well, not
that badly for Vin. She just needs plenty of pewter and some of Sazed's
care. He says the ribs aren't even broken, just cracked."
Elend nodded absently. Some soldiers were clearing away the corpses,
among them the six men that Vin had killed, including the one at the end. .
..
Elend squeezed his eyes shut.
"What?" Ham asked.
Elend opened his eyes, forming his hand into a fist to keep it from
shaking. "I know you've seen a lot of battles, Ham," he said. "But, I'm not
used to them. I'm not used to. . ." He turned away as the soldiers dragged
away the headless body.
Ham watched the corpse go.
"I've only actually seen her fight once before, you know," Elend said
quietly. "In the palace, a year ago. She only threw a few men against the
walls. It was nothing like this."
Ham took a seat beside Elend on the benches. "She's Mistborn, El. What
did you expect? A single Thug can easily take down ten men—dozens, if he
has a Coinshot to support him. A Mistborn. . .well, they're like an army in
one person."
Elend nodded. "I know, Ham. I know she killed the Lord Ruler—she's
even told me how she faced several Steel Inquisitors. But. . .I've just never
seen. . ."
He closed his eyes again. The image of Vin stumbling toward him at the
end, her beautiful white ball gown covered in the gore of a man she'd just
killed with her forehead. . .
She did it to protect me, he thought. But that doesn't make it any less
disturbing.
Maybe that even makes it a little more disturbing.
He forced his eyes open. He couldn't afford to be distracted; he had to be
strong. He was king.
"You think Straff sent them?" Elend asked.
Ham nodded. "Who else? They targeted you and Cett. I guess your threat
to kill Straff wasn't as binding as we assumed."
"How is Cett?"
"He barely escaped alive. As it is, they slaughtered half of his soldiers. In
the fray, Demoux and I couldn't even see what was happening up on the
stage with you and Vin."
Elend nodded. By the time Ham had arrived, Vin had already dealt with
the assassins. It had taken her only a few minutes to wipe out all six of
them.
Ham was silent for a moment. Finally, he turned to Elend. "I'll admit, El,"
he said quietly. "I'm impressed. I didn't see the fight, but I saw the
aftermath. It's one thing to fight six Allomancers, but it's another to do that
while trying to protect a regular person, and to keep any by-standers from
harm. And that last man. . ."
"Do you remember when she saved Breeze?" Elend asked. "It was so far
away, but I swear I saw her throw horses into the air with her Allomancy.
Have you ever heard of anything like that?"
Ham shook his head.
Elend sat quietly for a moment. "I think we need to do some planning.
What with today's events, we can't. . ."
Ham looked up as Elend trailed off. "What?"
"Messenger," Elend said, nodding toward the doorway. Sure enough, the
man presented himself to the soldiers, then was escorted up to the stage.
Elend stood, walking over to meet the short man, who wore Penrod's
heraldry on his coat.
"My lord," the man said, bowing. "I've been sent to inform you that the
voting will proceed at Lord Penrod's mansion."
"The voting?" Ham asked. "What nonsense is this? His Majesty was
nearly killed today!"
"I'm sorry, my lord," the aide said. "I was simply told to deliver the
message."
Elend sighed. He'd hoped that, in the confusion, Penrod wouldn't
remember the deadline. "If they don't choose a new leader today, Ham, then
I get to retain the crown. They've already wasted their grace period."
Ham sighed. "And if there are more assassins?" he asked quietly. "Vin
will be laid up for a few days, at least."
"I can't rely on her to protect me all the time," Elend said. "Let's go."
"I vote for myself," Lord Penrod said.
Not unexpected, Elend thought. He sat in Penrod's comfortable lounge,
accompanied by a group of shaken Assemblymen—none of whom,
thankfully, had been hurt in the attack. Several held drinks, and there was a
veritable army of guards waiting around the perimeter, eyeing each other
warily. The crowded room also held Noorden and three other scribes, who
were there to witness the voting, according to the law.
"I vote for Lord Penrod as well," said Lord Dukaler.
Also not unexpected, Elend thought. I wonder how much that cost
Penrod.
Mansion Penrod was not a keep, but it was lavishly decorated. The
plushness of Elend's chair was welcome as a relief from the tensions of the
day. Yet, Elend feared that it was too soothing. It would be very easy to drift
off. . ..
"I vote for Cett," said Lord Habren.
Elend perked up. It was the second for Cett, which put him behind
Penrod by three.
Everyone turned to Elend. "I vote for myself," he said, trying to project a
firmness that was hard to maintain after everything that had happened. The
merchants were next. Elend settled back, prepared for the expected run of
votes for Cett.
"I vote for Penrod," Philen said.
Elend sat upright, alert. What!
The next merchant voted for Penrod as well. As did the next, and the
next. Elend sat stunned, listening. What did I miss? he thought. He glanced
at Ham, who shrugged in confusion.
Philen glanced at Elend, smiling pleasantly. Elend couldn't tell if there
was bitterness or satisfaction in that look, however. They switched
allegiances? That quickly? Philen had been the one to sneak Cett into the
city in the first place.
Elend looked down the row of merchants, trying with little success to
gauge their reactions. Cett himself wasn't in the meeting; he had retreated to
Keep Hasting to nurse his wound.
"I vote for Lord Venture," said Haws, foremost of the skaa faction. This
also managed to get a stir out of the room. Haws met Elend's eye, and
nodded. He was a firm believer in the Church of the Survivor, and while the
different preachers of the religion were beginning to disagree on how to
organize their followers, they all agreed that a believer on the throne would
be better for them than handing the city over to Cett.
There will be a price to pay for this allegiance, Elend thought as the skaa
voted. They knew Elend's reputation for honesty, and he would not betray
their trust.
He had told them he would become an open member of their sect. He
hadn't promised them belief, but he had promised them devotion. He still
wasn't certain what he had given away, but both of them knew they would
need each other.
"I vote for Penrod," said Jasten, a canal worker.
"As do I," said Thurts, his brother.
Elend gritted his teeth. He'd known they would be trouble; they never had
liked the Church of the Survivor. But, four of the skaa had already given
him their votes. With only two remaining, he had a very good shot at a
deadlock.
"I vote for Venture," said the next man.
"I do, too," said the final skaa. Elend gave the man, Vet, a smile of
appreciation.
That left fifteen votes for Penrod, two for Cett, and seven for Elend.
Deadlock. Elend reclined slightly, head resting against the chair's pillowed
back, sighing softly.
You did your job, Vin, he thought. I did mine. Now we just need to keep
this country in one piece.
"Um," a voice asked, "am I allowed to change my vote?"
Elend opened his eyes. It was Lord Habren, one of the votes for Cett.
"I mean, it's obvious now that Cett isn't going to win," Habren said,
flushing slightly. The young man was a distant cousin of the Elariel family,
which was probably how he'd gotten his seat. Names still meant power in
Luthadel.
"I'm not sure if you can change or not," Lord Penrod said.
"Well, I'd rather my vote meant something," Habren said. "There are only
two votes for Cett, after all."
The room fell silent. One by one, the members of the Assembly turned to
Elend. Noorden the scribe met Elend's eyes. There was a clause allowing
for men to change their votes, assuming that the chancellor hadn't officially
closed the voting—which, indeed, he hadn't.
The clause was a rather oblique; Noorden was probably the only other
one in the room who knew the law well enough to interpret it. He nodded
slightly, still meeting Elend's eyes. He would hold his tongue.
Elend sat still in a room full of men who trusted him, even as they
rejected him. He could do as Noorden did. He could say nothing, or could
say that he didn't know.
"Yes," Elend said softly. "The law allows for you to change your vote,
Lord Habren. You may only do so once, and must do so before the winner is
declared. Everyone else has the same opportunity."
"Then I vote for Lord Penrod," Habren said.
"As do I," said Lord Hue, the other who had voted for Cett.
Elend closed his eyes.
"Are there any other alterations?" Lord Penrod asked.
No one spoke.
"Then," Penrod said, "I see seventeen votes for myself, seven votes for
Lord Venture. I officially close the voting and humbly accept your
appointment as king. I shall serve as best I can in this capacity."
Elend stood, then slowly removed his crown. "Here," he said, setting it
on the mantle. "You'll need this."
He nodded to Ham, then left without looking back at the men who had
discarded him.
PART FOUR
KNIVES
I know your argument. We speak of the Anticipation, of things foretold, of
promises made by our greatest prophets of old. Of course the Hero of Ages
will fit the prophecies. He will fit them perfectly. That's the idea.
39
STRAFF VENTURE RODE QUIETLY IN the misty twilight air. Though
he would have preferred a carriage, he felt it important to travel by
horseback and present a compelling image for the troops. Zane, not
surprisingly, chose to walk. He sauntered along beside Straff's horse, the
two of them leading a group of fifty soldiers.
Even with the troops, Straff felt exposed. It wasn't just the mists, and it
wasn't just the darkness. He could still remember her touch on his emotions.
"You've failed me, Zane," Straff said.
The Mistborn looked up, and—burning tin—Straff could see a frown on
his face. "Failed?"
"Venture and Cett still live. Beyond that, you sent a batch of my best
Allomancers to their deaths."
"I warned you that they might die," Zane said.
"For a purpose, Zane," Straff said sternly. "Why did you need a group of
secret Allomancers if you were just going to send them on a suicide mission
in the middle of a public gathering? You may assume our resources to be
unlimited, but let me assure you—those six men cannot be replaced."
It had taken Straff decades of work with his mistresses to gather so many
hidden Allomancers. It had been pleasurable work, but work all the same.
In one reckless gambit, Zane had destroyed a good third of Straff's
Allomancer children.
My children dead, our hand exposed, and that. . .creature of Elend's still
lives!
"I'm sorry, Father," Zane said. "I thought that the chaos and crowded
quarters would keep the girl isolated, and force her not to use coins. I really
thought this would work."
Straff frowned. He well knew that Zane thought himself more competent
than his father; what Mistborn wouldn't think such a thing? Only a delicate
mixture of bribery, threats, and manipulation kept Zane under control.
Yet, no matter what Zane thought, Straff was no fool. He knew, at that
moment, that Zane was hiding something. Why send those men to die?
Straff thought. He must have intended them to fail—otherwise he would
have helped them fight the girl.
"No," Zane said softly, talking to himself as he sometimes did. "He's my
father. . ." He trailed off, then shook his head sharply. "No. Not them
either."
Lord Ruler, Straff thought, looking down at the muttering madman
beside him. What have I gotten myself into? Zane was growing more
unpredictable. Had he sent those men to die out of jealousy, out of lust for
violence, or had he simply been bored? Straff didn't think that Zane had
turned on him, but it was difficult to tell. Either way, Straff didn't like
having to rely on Zane for his plans to work. He didn't really like having to
rely on Zane for anything.
Zane looked up at Straff, and stopped talking. He did a good job of
hiding his insanity, most of the time. A good enough job that Straff
sometimes forgot about it. Yet, it still lurked there, beneath the surface.
Zane was as dangerous a tool as Straff had ever used. The protection
provided by a Mistborn outweighed the danger of Zane's insanity.
Barely.
"You needn't worry, Father," Zane said. "The city will still be yours."
"It will never be mine as long as that woman lives," Straff said. He
shivered. Perhaps that's what this was all about. Zane's attack was so
obvious that everyone in the city knows I was behind it, and when that
Mistborn demon wakes, she will come after me in retribution.
But, if that were Zane's goal, then why not just kill me himself? Zane
didn't make sense. He didn't have to. That was, perhaps, one of the
advantages of being insane.
Zane shook his head. "I think you will be surprised, Father. One way or
another, you will soon have nothing to fear from Vin."
"She thinks I tried to have her beloved king assassinated."
Zane smiled. "No, I don't think that she does. She's far too clever for
that."
Too clever to see the truth?1 Straff thought. However, his tin-enhanced
ears heard shuffling in the mists. He held up a hand, halting his procession.
In the distance, he could just barely pick out the flickering blobs of wall-top
torches. They were close to the city—uncomfortably close.
Straff's procession waited quietly. Then, from the mists before them, a
man on horseback appeared, accompanied by fifty soldiers of his own.
Ferson Penrod.
"Straff," Penrod said, nodding.
"Ferson."
"Your men did well," Penrod said. "I'm glad your son didn't have to die.
He's a good lad. A bad king, but an earnest man."
A lot of my sons died today, Ferson, Straff thought. The fact that Elend
still lives isn't fortunate—it's irony.
"You are ready to deliver the city?" Straff asked.
Penrod nodded. "Philen and his merchants want assurances that they will
have titles to match those Cett promised them."
Straff waved a dismissive hand. "You know me, Ferson." You used to
practically grovel before me at parties every week. "I always honor business
agreements. I'd be an idiot not to appease those merchants—they're the ones
who will bring me tax revenue from this dominance."
Penrod nodded. "I'm glad we could come to an understanding, Straff. I
don't trust Cett."
"I doubt you trust me," Straff said.
Penrod smiled. "But I do know you, Straff. You're one of us—a Luthadel
nobleman. Besides, you have produced the most stable kingdom in the
dominances. That's all we're looking for right now. A little stability for this
people."
"You almost sound like that fool son of mine."
Penrod paused, then shook his head. "Your boy isn't a fool, Straff. He's
just an idealist. In truth, I'm sad to see his little utopia fall."
"If you are sad for him, Ferson, then you are an idiot, too."
Penrod stiffened. Straff caught the man's proud eyes, holding them with
his stare, until Penrod looked down. The exchange was a simple one,
mostly meaningless—but it did serve as a very important reminder.
Straff chuckled. "You're going to have to get used to being a small fish
again, Ferson."
"I know."
"Be cheerful," Straff said. "Assuming this turnover of power happens as
you promised, no one will have to end up dead. Who knows, maybe I'll let
you keep that crown of yours."
Penrod looked up.
"For a long time, this land didn't have kings," Straff said quietly. "It had
something greater. Well, I'm not the Lord Ruler—but I can be an emperor.
You want to keep your crown and rule as a subject king under me?"
"That depends on the cost, Straff," Penrod said carefully.
Not completely quelled, then. Penrod had always been clever; he'd been
the most important nobleman to stay behind in Luthadel, and his gamble
had certainly worked.
"The cost is exorbitant," Straff said. "Ridiculously so."
"The atium," Penrod guessed.
Straff nodded. "Elend hasn't found it, but it's here, somewhere. I was the
one who mined those geodes—my men spent1 decades harvesting them and
bringing them to Luthadel. I know how much of it we harvested, and I
know that nowhere near the same amount came back out in disbursements
to the nobility. The rest is in that city, somewhere."
Penrod nodded. "I'll see what I can find, Straff."
Straff raised an eyebrow. "You need to get back into practice, Ferson."
Penrod paused, then bowed his head. "I'll see what I can find, my lord."
"Good. Now, what news did you bring of Elend's mistress?"
"She collapsed after the fight," Penrod said. "I employ a spy on the
cooking staff, and she said she delivered a bowl of broth to Lady Vin's
room. It returned cold."
Straff frowned. "Could this woman of yours slip the Mistborn
something?"
Penrod paled slightly. "I. . .don't think that would be wise, my lord.
Besides, you know Mistborn constitutions."
Perhaps she really is incapacitated, Straff thought. If we moved in. . .The
chill of her touch on his emotions returned. Numbness. Nothingness.
"You needn't fear her so, my lord," Penrod said.
Straff raised an eyebrow. "I'm not afraid, I'm wary. I will not move into
that city until my safety is assured—and until I move in, your city is in
danger from Cett. Or, worse. What would happen if those koloss decide to
attack the city, Ferson? I'm in negotiations with their leader, and he seems
to be able to control them. For now. Have you ever seen the aftermath of a
koloss slaughter?"
He probably hadn't; Straff hadn't until just recently. Penrod just shook his
head. "Vin won't attack you. Not if the Assembly votes to put you in
command of the city. The transfer will be perfectly legal."
"I doubt she cares about legality."
"Perhaps," Penrod said. "But Elend does. And, where he commands, the
girl follows."
Unless he has as little control over her as I have over Zane, Straff
thought, shivering. No matter what Penrod said, Straff wasn't going to take
the city until that horrible creature was dealt with. In this, he could rely only
on Zane.
And that thought frightened him almost as much as Vin did.
Without further discussion, Straff waved to Penrod, dismissing him.
Penrod turned and retreated into the mists with his entourage. Even with his
tin, Straff barely heard Zane land on the ground beside him. Straff turned,
looking at the Mistborn.
"You really think he'd turn the atium over to you if he found it?" Zane
asked quietly.
"Perhaps," Straff said. "He has to know that he'd never be able to hold on
to it—he doesn't have the military might to protect a treasure like that. And,
if he doesn't give it to me. . .well, it would probably be easier to take the
atium from him than it would be to find it on my own."
Zane seemed to find the answer satisfactory. He waited for a few
moments, staring into the mists. Then he looked at Straff, a curious
expression on his face. "What time is it?"
Straff checked his pocket watch, something no Mistborn would carry.
Too much metal. "Eleven seventeen," he said.
Zane nodded, turning back to look at the city. "It should have taken effect
by now."
Straff frowned. Then he began to sweat. He flared tin, clamping his eyes
shut. There! he thought, noticing a weakness inside of him. "More poison?"
he asked, keeping the fear from his voice, forcing himself to be calm.
"How do you do it, Father?" Zane asked. "I thought for certain you'd
missed this one. Yet, here you are, just fine."
Straff was beginning to feel weak. "One doesn't need to be Mistborn to
be capable, Zane," he snapped.
Zane shrugged, smiling in the haunting way only he could—keenly
intelligent, yet eerily unstable. Then he just shook his head. "You win
again," he said, then shot upward into the sky, churning mists with his
passing.
Straff immediately turned his horse, trying to maintain his decorum as he
urged it back toward the camp. He could feel the poison. Feel it stealing his
life. Feel it threatening him, overcoming him. . ..
He went, perhaps, too quickly. It was difficult to maintain an air of
strength when you were dying. Finally, he broke into a gallop. He left his
startled guards behind, and they called in surprise, breaking into a jog to try
and keep up.
Straff ignored their complaints. He kicked the horse faster. Could he feel
the poison slowing his reactions? Which one had Zane used? Gurwraith?
No, it required injection. Tompher, perhaps? Or. . .perhaps he had found one
that Straff didn't even know about.
He could only hope that wasn't the case. For, if Straff didn't know of the
poison, then Amaranta probably wouldn't know of it either, and wouldn't be
able to put the antidote into her catch-all healing potion.
The lights of camp illuminated the mists. Soldiers cried out as Straff
approached, and he was nearly run through as one of his own men leveled a
spear at the charging horse. Fortunately, the man recognized him in time.
Straff rode the man down even as he turned aside his spear.
Straff charged right up to his tent. By now, his men were scattering,
preparing as if for an invasion, or some other attack. There was no way he
could hide this from Zane.
I wouldn't be able to hide my death either.
"My lord!" a captain said, dashing up to him.
"Send for Amaranta," Straff said, stumbling off his horse.
The soldier paused. "Your mistress, lord?" the man said, frowning. "Why
—"
"Now!" Straff commanded, throwing back his tent flap, walking inside.
He paused, legs trembling as the tent flap closed. He wiped his brow with a
hesitant hand. Too much sweat.
Damn him! he thought with frustration. I have to kill him, contain him. .
.I have to do something. I can't rule like this!
But what? He'd sat up nights, he'd wasted days, trying to decide what to
do about Zane. The atium he used to bribe the man no longer seemed a
good motivator. Zane's actions this day—slaughtering Straff's children in an
obviously hopeless attempt to kill Elend's mistress—proved that he could
no longer be trusted, even in a small way.
Amaranta arrived with surprising speed, and she immediately began
mixing her antidote. Eventually, as Straff slurped down the horrid-tasting
concoction—feeling its healing effects immediately—he came to an uneasy
conclusion.
Zane had to die.
An1d yet. . .something about all this seemed so convenient. It felt almost
as if we constructed a hero to fit our prophecies, rather than allowing one
to arise naturally. This was the worry I had, the thing that should have
given me pause when my brethren came to me, finally willing to believe.
40
ELEND SAT BESIDE HER BED.
That comforted her. Though she slept fitfully, a piece of her knew that he
was there, watching over her. It felt odd to be beneath his protective care,
for she was the one who usually did the guarding.
So, when she finally woke, she wasn't surprised to find him in the chair
beside her bed, reading quietly by soft candlelight. As she came fully
awake, she didn't jump up, or search the room with apprehension. Instead,
she sat up slowly, pulling the blanket up under her arms, then took a sip of
the water that had been left for her beside the bed.
Elend closed the book and turned toward her, smiling. Vin searched those
soft eyes, delving for hints of the horror she had seen before. The disgust,
the terror, the shock.
He knew her for a monster. How could he smile so kindly?
"Why?" she asked quietly.
"Why what?" he asked.
"Why wait here?" she said. "I'm not dying—I remember that much."
Elend shrugged. "I just wanted to be near you."
She said nothing. A coal stove burned in the corner, though it needed
more fuel. Winter was close, and it was looking to be a cold one. She wore
only a nightgown; she'd asked the maids not to put one on her, but by then
Sazed's draught—to help her sleep—had already begun taking effect, and
she hadn't had the energy to argue.
She pulled the blanket closer. Only then did she realize something she
should have noticed earlier. "Elend! You're not wearing your uniform."
He looked down at his clothing—a nobleman's suit from his old
wardrobe, with an unbuttoned maroon vest. The jacket was too big for him.
He shrugged. "No need to continue the charade anymore, Vin."
"Cett is king?" she asked with a sinking feeling.
Elend shook his head. "Penrod."
"That doesn't make sense."
"I know," he said. "We aren't sure why the merchants betrayed Cett—but
it doesn't really matter anymore. Penrod is a far better choice anyway. Than
either Cett, or me."
"You know that's not true."
Elend sat back contemplatively. "I don't know, Vin. I thought I was the
better man. Yet, while I thought up all kinds of schemes to keep the throne
from Cett, I never really considered the one plan that would have been
certain to defeat him—that of giving my support to Penrod, combining our
votes. What if my arrogance had landed us with Cett? I wasn't thinking of
the people."
"Elend. . ." she said, laying a hand on his arm.
And he flinched.
It was slight, almost unnoticeable, and he covered it quickly. But the
damage was done. Damage she had caused, damage within him. He had
finally seen—really seen—what she was. He'd fallen in love with a lie.
"What?" he said, looking into her face.
"Nothing," Vin said. She withdrew her hand. Inside, something cracked. I
love him so much. Why? Why did I let him see? If only I'd had a choice!
He's betraying you, Reen's voice whispered in the back of her mind.
Everyone will leave you eventually, Vin.
Elend sighed, glancing toward the shutters to her room. They were
closed, keeping the mists out, though Vin could see the darkness beyond.
"The thing is, Vin," he said quietly, "I never really thought it would end
this way. I trusted them, right to the end. The people—the Assemblymen
they chose—I trusted that they would do the right thing. When they didn't
choose me, I was actually surprised. I shouldn't have been. We knew that I
was the long shot. I mean, they had already voted me out once. But, I'd
convinced myself that was just a warning. Inside, in my heart, I thought that
they would reinstate me."
He shook his head. "Now, I either have to admit that my faith in them
was wrong, or I have to trust in their decision."
That was what she loved: his goodness, his simple honesty. Things as
odd and exotic to a skaa urchin as her own Mistborn nature must be to most
people. Even among all the good men of Kelsier's crew, even amid the best
of the nobility, she had never found another man like Elend Venture. A man
who would rather believe that the people who had dethroned him were just
trying to do the right thing.
At times, she had felt a fool for falling in love with the first nobleman
whom she grew to know. But now she realized that her love of Elend had
not come about because of simple convenience or proximity. It had come
because of who Elend was. The fact that she had found him first was an
event of incredible fortune.
And now. . .it was over. At least, in the form it had once had. But, she'd
known all along that it would turn out this way. That was why she'd refused
his marriage proposal, now over a year old. She couldn't marry him. Or,
rather, she couldn't let him marry her.
"I know that sorrow in your eyes, Vin," Elend said softly.
She looked at him with shock.
"We can get past this," he said. "The throne wasn't everything. We might
be better off this way, actually. We did our best. Now it's someone else's
turn to try."
She smiled wanly. He doesn't know. He must never know how much this
hurts. He's a good man—he'd try to force himself to keep loving me.
"But," he said, "you should get some more rest."
"I feel fine," Vin said, stretching slightly. Her side hurt, and her neck
ached, but pewter burned within her, and none of her wounds were
debilitating. "I need to—"
She cut herself off as a realization hit her. She sat upright, the sudden
motion making her rigid with pain. The day before was a blur, but. . .
"OreSeur!" she said, pushing aside the blanket.
"He's fine, Vin," Elend said. "He's a kandra. Broken bones mean nothing
to him."
She paused, half out of bed, suddenly feeling foolish. "Where is he?"
"Digesting a new body," Elend said, smiling.
"Why the smile?" she asked.
"I've just never heard someone express that much concern for a kandra
before."
"Well, I don't see why not," Vin said, climbing back in bed. "OreSeur risked
his life for me."
"He's a kandra, Vin," Elend repeated. "I don't think those men could have
killed him; I doubt even a Mistborn could."
Vin paused. Not even a Mistborn could. . .. What bothered her about that
statement? "Regardless," she said. "He feels pain. He took two serious
blows on my behalf."
"Just fulfilling his Contract."
His Contract. . .. OreSeur had attacked a human. He had broken his
Contract. For her.
"What?" Elend asked.
"Nothing," Vin said quickly. "Tell me about the armies."
Elend eyed her, but allowed the conversation to change directions. "Cett
is still holed up in Keep Hasting. We're not sure what his reaction will be.
The Assembly didn't choose him, which can't be good. And yet, he hasn't
protested—he has to realize that he's trapped in here now."
"He must have really believed that we'd choose him," Vin said, frowning.
"Why else would he come into the city?"
Elend shook his head. "It was an odd move in the first place. Anyway, I
have advised the Assembly to try and make a deal with him. I think he
believes that the atium isn't in the city, so there's really no reason for him to
want Luthadel."
"Except for the prestige."
"Which wouldn't be worth losing his army," Elend's said. "Or his life."
Vin nodded. "And your father?"
"Silent," Elend said. "It's strange, Vin. This isn't like him—those
assassins were so blatant. I'm not sure what to make of them."
"The assassins," Vin said, sitting back in the bed. "You've identified
them?"
Elend shook his head. "Nobody recognizes them."
Vin frowned.
"Maybe we aren't as familiar with the noblemen out in the Northern
Dominance as we thought we were."
No, Vin thought. No, if they were from a city as close as Urteau—Straff's
home—some of them would be known, wouldn't they? "I thought I
recognized one of them," Vin finally said.
"Which one?"
"The. . .last one."
Elend paused. "Ah. Well, I guess we won't be able to identify him now."
"Elend, I'm sorry you had to see that."
"What?" Elend asked. "Vin, I've seen death before. I was forced to attend
the Lord Ruler's executions, remember?" He paused. "Not that what you did
was like that, of course."
Of course.
"You were amazing," Elend said. "I'd be dead right now if you hadn't
stopped those Allomancers—and it's likely that Penrod and the other
Assemblymen would have fared the same. You saved the Central
Dominance."
We always have to be the knives. . ..
Elend smiled, standing. "Here," he said, walking to the side of the room.
"This is cold, but Sazed said you should eat it when you awoke." He
returned with a bowl of broth.
"Sazed sent it?" Vin asked skepticall1y. "Drugged, then?"
Elend smiled. "He warned me not to taste it myself—he said it was filled
with enough sedatives to knock me out for a month. It takes a lot to affect
you pewter burners."
He set the bowl on the bedstand. Vin eyed it through narrowed eyes.
Sazed was probably worried that, despite her wounds, she'd go out and
prowl the city if she were left on her own. He was probably right. With a
sigh, Vin accepted the bowl and began to sip at it.
Elend smiled. "I'll send someone to bring you more coal for the stove,"
he said. "There are some things I need to do."
Vin nodded, and he left, pulling the door shut behind him.
When Vin next awoke, she saw that Elend was still there. He stood in the
shadows, watching her. It was still dark outside. The shutters to her window
were open, and mist coated the floor of the room.
The shutters were open.
Vin sat upright and turned toward the figure in the corner. It wasn't Elend.
"Zane," she said flatly.
He stepped forward. It was so easy to see the similarities between him
and Elend, now that she knew what to look for. They had the same jaw, the
same wavy dark hair. They even had similar builds, now that Elend had
been exercising.
"You sleep too soundly," Zane said.
"Even a Mistborn's body needs sleep to heal."
"You shouldn't have been hurt in the first place," Zane said. "You should
have been able to kill those men with ease, but you were distracted by my
brother, and by trying to keep the people of the room from harm. This is
what he's done to you—he's changed you, so that you no longer see what
needs to be done, you just see what he wants you to do."
Vin raised an eyebrow, quietly feeling beneath her pillow. Her dagger
was there, fortunately. He didn't kill me in my sleep, she thought. That has
to be a good sign.
He took another step forward. She tensed. "What is your game, Zane?"
she said. "First, you tell me that you've decided not to kill me—then you
send a group of assassins. What now? Have you come to finish the job?"
"We didn't send those assassins, Vin," Zane said quietly.
Vin snorted.
"Believe as you wish," Zane said, taking another step forward so that he
stood right beside her bed, a tall figure of blackness and solemnity. "But,
my father is still terrified of you. Why would he risk retribution by trying to
kill Elend?"
"It was a gamble," Vin said. "He hoped those assassins would kill me."
"Why use them?" Zane asked. "He has me—why use a bunch of Mistings
to attack you in the middle of a crowded room, when he could just have me
use atium in the night and kill you?"
Vin hesitated.
"Vin," he said, "I watched the corpses being carried away from the
Assembly Hall, and I recognized some of them from Cett's entourage."
That's it! Vin thought. That's where I saw that Thug whose face I
smashed! He was at Keep Hasting, peeking out from the kitchen while we
ate with Cett, pretending to be a servant.
"But, the assassins attacked Cett too. . ." Vin trailed off. It was basic
thieving strategy: if you had a front t1hat you wanted to escape suspicion as
you burgled the shops around it, you made certain to "steal" from yourself
as well.
"The assassins who attacked Cett were all normal men," Vin said. "No
Allomancers. I wonder what he told them—that they'd be allowed to
'surrender' once the battle turned? But why fake an attack in the first place?
He was favored for the throne."
Zane shook his head. "Penrod made a deal with my father, Vin. Straff
offered the Assembly wealth beyond anything Cett could provide. That's
why the merchants changed their votes. Cett must have gotten wind of their
betrayal. He has spies enough in the city."
Vin sat, dumbfounded. Of course! "And the only way that Cett could see
to win. . ."
"Was to send the assassins," Zane said with a nod. "They were to attack
all three candidates, killing Penrod and Elend, but leaving Cett alive. The
Assembly would assume that they'd been betrayed by Straff, and Cett
would become king."
Vin gripped her knife with a shaking hand. She was growing tired of
games. Elend had almost died. She had almost failed.
Part of her, a burning part, wanted to do what she'd first been inclined to.
To go out and kill Cett and Straff, to remove the danger the most efficient
way possible.
No, she told herself forcefully. No, that was Kelsier's way. It's not my
way. It's not. . .Elend's way.
Zane turned away, facing toward her window, staring at the small
waterfall-like flow of mist spilling through. "I should have arrived sooner to
the fight. I was outside, with the crowds that came too late to get a seat. I
didn't even know what was happening until the people started piling out."
Vin raised an eyebrow. "You almost sound sincere, Zane."
"I have no wish to see you dead," he said, turning. "And I certainly don't
want to see harm befall Elend."
"Oh?" Vin asked. "Even though he's the one who had all the privileges,
while you were despised and kept locked away?"
Zane shook his head. "It isn't like that. Elend is. . .pure. Sometimes—
when I hear him speak—I wonder if I would have become like him, if my
childhood had been different."
He met her eyes in the dark room. "I'm. . .broken, Vin. Maddened. I can
never be like Elend. But, killing him wouldn't change me. It's probably best
that he and I were raised apart—it's far better that he doesn't know about
me. Better that he remain as he is. Untainted."
"I. . ." Vin floundered. What could she say? She could see actual sincerity
in Zane's eyes.
"I'm not Elend," Zane said. "I never will be—I'm not a part of his world.
But, I don't think that I should be. Neither should you. After the fighting
was done, I finally got into the Assembly Hall. I saw Elend standing over
you, at the end. I saw the look in his eyes."
She turned away.
"It's not his fault that he is what he is," Zane said. "As I said, he's pure.
But, that makes him different from us. I've tried to explain it to you. I wish
you could have seen that look in his eyes. . .."
I saw it, Vin thought. She didn't want to remember it, but she had seen it.
That awful look of horror, a reaction to something terrible and alien,
something beyond understanding.
"I can't be Elend," Zane s1aid quietly, "but you don't want me to be." He
reached over and dropped something on her bedstand. "Next time, be
prepared."
Vin snatched the object as Zane began to walk toward the window. The
ball of metal rolled in her palm. The shape was bumpy, but the texture was
smooth—like a nugget of gold. She knew it without having to swallow it.
"Atium?"
"Cett may send other assassins," Zane said, hopping up onto the
windowsill.
"You're giving it to me?" she asked. "There's enough here for a good two
minutes of burning!" It was a small fortune, easily worth twenty thousand
boxings before the Collapse. Now, with the scarcity of atium. . .
Zane turned back toward her. "Just keep yourself safe," he said, then
launched himself out into the mists.
Vin did not like being injured. Logically, she knew that other people
probably felt the same way; after all, who would enjoy pain and
debilitation? Yet, when the others got sick, she sensed frustration from
them. Not terror.
When sick, Elend would spend the day in bed, reading books. Clubs had
taken a bad blow during practice several months before, and he had
grumbled about the pain, but had stayed off his leg for a few days without
much prodding.
Vin was growing to be more like them. She could lie in bed as she did
now, knowing that nobody would try to slit her throat while she was too
weak to call for help. Still, she itched to rise, to show that she wasn't very
badly wounded. Lest someone think otherwise, and try to take advantage.
It isn't like that anymore! she told herself. It was light outside, and though
Elend had been back to visit several times, he was currently away. Sazed
had come to check on her wounds, and had begged her to stay in bed for "at
least one more day." Then he'd gone back to his studies. With Tindwyl.
What ever happened to those two hating each other? she thought with
annoyance. I barely get to see him.
Her door opened. Vin was pleased that her instincts were still keen
enough that she immediately grew tense, reaching for her daggers. Her
pained side protested the sudden motion.
Nobody entered.
Vin frowned, still tense, until a canine head popped up over the top of her
footboard. "Mistress?" said a familiar, half growl of a voice.
"OreSeur?" Vin said. "You're wearing another dog's body!"
"Of course, Mistress," OreSeur said, hopping up onto the bed. "What else
would I have?"
"I don't know," Vin said, putting away her daggers. "When Elend said
you'd had him get you a body, I just assumed that you'd asked for a human.
I mean, everyone saw my 'dog' die."
"Yes," OreSeur said, "but it will be simple to explain that you got a new
animal. You are expected to have a dog with you now, and so not having
one would provoke notice."
Vin sat quietly. She'd changed back to trousers and shirt, despite Sazed's
protests. Her dresses hung in the other room, one noticeably absent. At
times, when she looked at them, she thought she saw the gorgeous white
gown hanging there, sprayed with blood. Tindwyl had been wrong: Vin
couldn't be both Mistborn and lady. The horror she had seen in the eyes of
the Assemblymen was enough proof for her.
"You didn't need to take a dog's body, OreSeur," Vin said quietly. "I'd
ra1ther that you were happy."
"It is all right, Mistress," OreSeur said. "I have grown. . .fond of these
kinds of bones. I should like to explore their advantages a little more before
I return to human ones."
Vin smiled. He'd chosen another wolfhound—a big brute of a beast. The
colorings were different: more black than gray, without any patches of
white. She approved.
"OreSeur. . ." Vin said, looking away. "Thank you for what you did for
me."
"I fulfill my Contract."
"I've been in other fights," Vin said. "You never intervened in those."
OreSeur didn't answer immediately. "No, I didn't."
"Why this time?"
"I did what felt right, Mistress," OreSeur said.
"Even if it contradicted the Contract?"
OreSeur sat up proudly on his haunches. "I did not break my Contract,"
he said firmly.
"But you attacked a human."
"I didn't kill him," OreSeur said. "We are cautioned to stay out of combat,
lest we accidentally cause a human death. Indeed, most of my brethren
think that helping someone kill is the same as killing, and feel it is a breach
of the Contract. The words are distinct, however. I did nothing wrong."
"And if that man you tackled had broken his neck?"
"Then I would have returned to my kind for execution," OreSeur said.
Vin smiled. "Then you did risk your life for me."
"In a small way, I suppose," OreSeur said. "The chances of my actions
directly causing that man's death were slim."
"Thank you anyway."
OreSeur bowed his head in acceptance.
"Executed," Vin said. "So you can be killed?"
"Of course, Mistress," OreSeur said. "We aren't immortal."
Vin eyed him.
"I will say nothing specific, Mistress," OreSeur said. "As you might
imagine, I would rather not reveal the weaknesses of my kind. Please
suffice it to say that they exist."
Vin nodded, but frowned in thought, bringing her knees up to her chest.
Something was still bothering her, something about what Elend had said
earlier, something about OreSeur's actions. . ..
"But," she said slowly, "you couldn't have been killed by swords or
staves, right?"
"Correct," OreSeur said. "Though our flesh looks like yours, and though
we feel pain, beating us has no permanent effect."
"Then why are you afraid?" Vin said, finally lighting upon what was
bothering her.
"Mistress?"
"Why did your people make the Contract?" Vin asked. "Why subjugate
yourselves to mankind? If our soldiers couldn't hurt you, then why even
worry about us?"
"You have Allomancy," OreSeur said.
"So, Allomancy can kill you?"
"No," OreSeur said, shaking his canine head. "It cannot. But, perhaps we
should change the topic. I'm sorry, Mistress. This is very dangerous ground
for me."1p>
"I understand," Vin said, sighing. "It's just so frustrating. There's so much
I don't know—about the Deepness, about the legal politics. . .even about my
own friends!" She sat back, looking up at the ceiling. And there's still a spy
in the palace. Demoux or Dockson, likely. Maybe I should just order them
both taken and held for a time? Would Elend even do such a thing?
OreSeur was watching her, apparently noting her frustration. Finally, he
sighed. "Perhaps there are some things I can speak of, Mistress, if I am
careful. What do you know of the origin of the kandra?"
Vin perked up. "Nothing."
"We did not exist before the Ascension," he said.
"You mean to say that the Lord Ruler created you?"
"That is what our lore teaches," OreSeur said. "We are not certain of our
purpose. Perhaps we were to be Father's spies."
"Father?" Vin said. "It seems strange to hear him spoken of that way."
"The Lord Ruler created us, Mistress," OreSeur said. "We are his
children."
"And I killed him," Vin said. "I. . .feel like I should apologize."
"Just because he is our Father does not mean we accepted everything he
did, Mistress," OreSeur said. "Cannot a human man love his father, yet not
believe he is a good person?"
"I suppose."
"Kandra theology about Father is complex," OreSeur said. "Even for us,
it is difficult to sort through it sometimes."
Vin frowned. "OreSeur? How old are you?"
"Old," he said simply.
"Older than Kelsier?"
"Much," OreSeur. "But not as old as you are thinking. I do not remember
the Ascension."
Vin nodded. "Why tell me all of this?"
"Because of your original question, Mistress. Why do we serve the
Contract? Well, tell me—if you were the Lord Ruler, and had his power,
would you have created servants without building into them a way that you
could control them?"
Vin nodded slowly in understanding.
"Father took little thought of the kandra from about the second century
after his Ascension," OreSeur said. "We tried to be independent for a time,
but it was as I explained, humankind resented us. Feared us. And, some of
them knew of our weaknesses. When my ancestors considered their options,
they eventually chose voluntary servitude as opposed to forced slavery."
He created them, Vin thought. She had always shared a bit of Kelsier's
view regarding the Lord Ruler—that he was more man than deity. But, if
he'd truly created a completely new species, then there had to have been
some divinity in him.
The power of the Well of Ascension, she thought. He took it for himself—
but it didn't last. It must have run out, and quickly. Otherwise, why would
he have needed armies to conquer?
An initial burst of power, the ability to create, to change—perhaps to
save. He'd pushed back the mists, and in the process he'd somehow made
the ash begin to fall and the sky turn red. He'd created the kandra to serve
him—and probably the koloss, too. He might even have created
Allomancers themselves.
And a1fter that, he had returned to being a normal man. Mostly. The
Lord Ruler had still held an inordinate amount of power for an Allomancer,
and had managed to keep control of his creations—and he had somehow
kept the mists from killing.
Until Vin had slain him. Then the koloss had begun to rampage, and the
mists had returned. The kandra hadn't been beneath his control at that time,
so they remained as they were. But, he built into them a method of control,
should he need it. A way to make the kandra serve him. . ..
Vin closed her eyes, and quested out lightly with her Allomantic senses.
OreSeur had said that kandra couldn't be affected by Allomancy—but she
knew something else about the Lord Ruler, something that had
distinguished him from other Allomancers. His inordinate power had
allowed him to do things he shouldn't have been able to.
Things like pierce copperclouds, and affect metals inside of a person's
body. Maybe that was how he controlled the kandra, the thing that OreSeur
was speaking of. The reason they feared Mistborn.
Not because Mistborn could kill them, but because Mistborn could do
something else. Enslave them, somehow. Tentatively, testing what he'd said
earlier, Vin reached out with a Soothing and touched OreSeur's emotions.
Nothing happened.
I can do some of the same things as the Lord Ruler, she thought. I can
pierce copperclouds. Perhaps, if I just Push harder. . .
She focused, and Pushed on his emotions with a powerful Soothing.
Again, nothing happened. Just as he'd told her. She sat for a moment. And
then, impulsively, she burned duralumin and tried one final, massive Push.
OreSeur immediately let out a howl so bestial and unexpected that Vin
jumped to her feet in shock, flaring pewter.
OreSeur fell to the bed, shaking.
"OreSeur!" she said, dropping to her knees, grabbing his head. "I'm
sorry!"
"Said too much. . ." he muttered, still shaking. "I knew I'd said too
much."
"I didn't mean to hurt you," Vin said.
The shaking subsided, and OreSeur fell still for a moment, breathing
quietly. Finally, he pulled his head out of her arms. "What you meant is
immaterial, Mistress," he said flatly. "The mistake was mine. Please, never
do that again."
"I promise," she said. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head, crawling off the bed. "You shouldn't even have been
able to do it. There are strange things about you, Mistress—you are like the
Allomancers of old, before the passage of generations dulled their powers."
"I'm sorry," Vin said again, feeling helpless. He saved my life, nearly
broke his Contract, and I do this to him. . ..
OreSeur shrugged. "It is done. I need to rest. I suggest that you do the
same."
After that, I began to see other problems.
41
"'I WRITE THIS RECORD NOW,'" Sazed read out loud, "'pounding it
into a metal slab, because I am afraid. Afraid for myself, yes—I admit to
being human. If Alendi does return from the Well of Ascension, I am
certain that my death will be one of his first objectives. He is not an evil
man, but he is a ruthless one. That is, I think, a product of what he has been
through.'"
"That fits what we know of Alendi from the logbook," Tindwyl said.
"Assuming that Alendi is that book's author."
Sazed glanced at his pile of notes, running over the basics in his mind.
Kwaan had been an ancient Terris scholar. He had discovered Alendi, a man
he began to think—through his studies—might be the Hero of Ages, a
figure from Terris prophecy. Alendi had listened to him, and had become a
political leader. He had conquered much of the world, then traveled north to
the Well of Ascension. By then, however, Kwaan had apparently changed
his mind about Alendi—and had tried to stop him from getting to the Well.
It fit together. Even though the logbook author never mentioned his own
name, it was obvious that he was Alendi. "It is a very safe assumption, I
think," Sazed said. "The logbook even speaks of Kwaan, and the falling-out
they had."
They sat beside each other in Sazed's rooms. He had requested, and
received, a larger desk to hold their multitudinous notes and scribbled
theories. Beside the door sat the remnants of their afternoon meal, a soup
they had hurriedly gulped down. Sazed itched to take the dishes down to the
kitchens, but he hadn't been able to pull himself away yet.
"Continue," Tindwyl requested, sitting back in her chair, looking more
relaxed than Sazed had ever seen her. The rings running down the sides of
her ears alternated in color—a gold or copper followed by a tin or iron. It
was such a simple thing, but there was a beauty to it.
"Sazed?"
Sazed started. "I apologize," he said, then turned back to his reading. "'I
am also afraid, however, that all I have known—that my story—will be
forgotten. I am afraid for the world that may come. Afraid because my
plans failed. Afraid of a doom brought by the Deepness.'"
"Wait," Tindwyl said. "Why did he fear that?"
"Why would he not?" Sazed asked. "The Deepness—which we assume is
the mist—was killing his people. Without sunlight, their crops would not
grow, and their animals could not graze."
"But, if Kwaan feared the Deepness, then he should not have opposed
Alendi," Tindwyl said. "He was climbing to the Well of Ascension to defeat
the Deepness."
"Yes," Sazed said. "But by then, Kwaan was convinced that Alendi
wasn't the Hero of Ages."
"But why would that matter?" Tindwyl said. "It didn't take a specific
person to stop the mists—Rashek's success proves that. Here, skip to the
end. Read that passage about Rashek."
"'I have a young nephew, one Rashek,'" Sazed read. "'He hates all of
Khlennium with the passion of envious youth. He hates Alendi even more
acutely—though the two have never met—for Rashek feels betrayed that
one of our oppressors should have been chosen as the Hero of Ages.
"'Alendi will need guides through the Terris mountains. I have charged
Rashek with making certain that he and his trusted friends are chosen as
those guides. Rashek is to try and lead Alendi in the wrong direction, to
discourage him or otherwise foil his quest. Alendi won't know that he has
been deceived.
"'If Rashek fails to lead Alendi astray, then I have instructed the lad to
kill my former friend. It is a distant hope. Alendi has survived assassins,
wars, and catastrophes. And yet, I hope that in the frozen mountains of
Terris, he may finally be exposed. I hope for a miracle.
"'Alendi must not reach the Well of1 Ascension. He must not take the
power for himself.'"
Tindwyl sat back, frowning.
"What?"
"Something is wrong there, I think," she said. "But I cannot tell you
precisely what."
Sazed scanned the text again. "Let us break it down to simple statements,
then. Rashek—the man who became the Lord Ruler—was Kwaan's
nephew."
"Yes," Tindwyl said.
"Kwaan sent Rashek to mislead, or even kill, his once-friend Alendi the
Conqueror—a man climbing the mountains of Terris to seek the Well of
Ascension."
Tindwyl nodded.
"Kwaan did this because he feared what would happen if Alendi took the
Well's power for himself."
Tindwyl raised a finger. "Why did he fear that?"
"It seems a rational fear, I think," Sazed said.
"Too rational," Tindwyl replied. "Or, rather, perfectly rational. But, tell
me, Sazed. When you read Alendi's logbook, did you get the impression
that he was the type who would take that power for himself?"
Sazed shook his head. "Actually, the opposite. That is part of what made
the logbook so confusing—we couldn't figure out why the man represented
within would have done as we assumed he must have. I think that is part of
what eventually led Vin to guess that the Lord Ruler wasn't Alendi at all,
but Rashek, his packman."
"And Kwaan says that he knew Alendi well," Tindwyl said. "In fact, in
this very rubbing, he compliments the man on several occasions. Calls him
a good person, I believe."
"Yes," Sazed said, finding the passage. "'He is a good man—despite it all,
he is a good man. A sacrificing man. In truth, all of his actions—all of the
deaths, destructions, and pains that he has caused—have hurt him deeply.'"
"So, Kwaan knew Alendi well," Tindwyl said. "And thought highly of
him. He also, presumably, knew his nephew Rashek well. Do you see my
problem?"
Sazed nodded slowly. "Why send a man of wild temperament, one whose
motivations are based on envy and hatred, to kill a man you thought to be
good and of worthy temperament? It does seem an odd choice."
"Exactly," Tindwyl said, resting her arms on the table.
"But," Sazed said, "Kwaan says right here that he 'doubts that if Alendi
reaches the Well of Ascension, he will take the power and then—in the
name of the greater good—give it up.'"
Tindwyl shook her head. "It doesn't make sense, Sazed. Kwaan wrote
several times about how he feared the Deepness, but then he tried to foil the
hope of stopping it by sending a hateful youth to kill a respected, and
presumably wise, leader. Kwaan practically set up Rashek to take the power
—if letting Alendi take the power was such a concern, wouldn't he have
feared that Rashek might do the same?"
"Perhaps we simply see things with the clarity of those regarding events
that have already occurred," Sazed said.
Tindwyl shook her head. "We're missing something, Sazed. Kwaan is a
very rational, even deliberate, man—one can tell that from his narrative. He
was the one who discovered Alendi, and was the first to tout him as the
Hero of Ages. Why would he turn against him as he did?"
Sazed nodded, flipping thro1ugh his translation of the rubbing. Kwaan
had gained much notoriety by discovering the Hero. He found the place he
was looking for.
There was a place for me in the lore of the Anticipation, the text read. I
thought myself the Announcer, the prophet foretold to discover the Hero of
Ages. Renouncing Alendi then would have been to renounce my new
position, my acceptance, by the others.
"Something dramatic must have happened," Tindwyl said. "Something
that would make him turn against his friend, the source of his own fame.
Something that pricked his conscience so sharply that he was willing to risk
opposing the most powerful monarch in the land. Something so frightening
that he took a ridiculous chance by sending this Rashek on an assassination
mission."
Sazed leafed through his notes. "He fears both the Deepness and what
would happen if Alendi took the power. Yet, he cannot seem to decide
which one is the greater threat, and neither seems more present in the
narrative than the other. Yes, I can see the problem here. Do you think,
perhaps, Kwaan was trying to imply something by the inconsistency in his
own arguments?"
"Perhaps," Tindwyl said. "The information is just so slim. I cannot judge
a man without knowing the context of his life!"
Sazed looked up, eyeing her. "Perhaps we have been studying too hard,"
he said. "Shall we take a break?"
Tindwyl shook her head. "We don't have the time, Sazed."
He met her eyes. She was right on that point.
"You sense it too, don't you?" she asked.
He nodded. "This city will soon fall. The forces pressing upon it. . .the
armies, the koloss, the civil confusion. . ."
"I fear it will be more violent than your friends hope, Sazed," Tindwyl
said quietly. "They seem to believe that they can just continue to juggle
their problems."
"They are an optimistic group," he said with a smile. "Unaccustomed to
being defeated."
"This will be worse than the revolution," Tindwyl said. "I have studied
these things, Sazed. I know what happens when a conqueror takes a city.
People will die. Many people."
Sazed felt a chill at her words. There was a tension to Luthadel; war was
coming to the city. Perhaps one army or another would enter by the blessing
of the Assembly, but the other would still strike. The walls of Luthadel
would run red when the siege finally ended.
And he feared that end was coming very, very soon.
"You are right," he said, turning back to the notes on his desktop. "We
must continue to study. We should collect more of what we can find about
the land before the Ascension, so that you may have the context you seek."
She nodded, showing a fatalistic resolve. This was not a task they could
complete in the time they had. Deciphering the meaning of the rubbing,
comparing it to the logbook, and relating it to the context of the period was
a scholarly undertaking that would require the determined work of years.
Keepers had much knowledge—but in this case, it was almost too much.
They had been gathering and transmitting records, stories, myths, and
legends for so long that it took years for one Keeper to recite the collected
works to a new initiate.
Fortunately, included with the mass of information were indexes and
summaries created by the Keepers. On top 1of this came the notes and
personal indexes each individual Keeper made. And yet, these only helped
the Keeper understand just how much information he had. Sazed himself
had spent his life reading, memorizing, and indexing religions. Each night,
before he slept, he read some portion of a note or story. He was probably
the world's foremost scholar on pre-Ascension religions, and yet he felt as if
he knew so little.
Compounding all of that was the inherent unreliability of their
information. A great deal of it came from the mouths of simple people,
doing their best to remember what their lives had once been like—or, more
often, what the lives of their grandparents had once been like. The Keepers
hadn't been founded until late in the second century of the Lord Ruler's
reign. By then, many religions had already been wiped out in their pure
forms.
Sazed closed his eyes, dumped another index from a coppermind into his
head, then began to search it. There wasn't much time, true, but Tindwyl
and he were Keepers. They were accustomed to beginning tasks that others
would have to finish.
Elend Venture, once king of the Central Dominance, stood on the balcony
of his keep, overlooking the vast city of Luthadel. Though the first snows
had yet to fall, the weather had grown cold. He wore an overcloak, tied at
the front, but it didn't protect his face. A chill tingled his cheeks as a wind
blew across him, whipping at his cloak. Smoke rose from chimneys,
gathering like an ominous shadow above the city before rising up to meld
with the ashen red sky.
For every house that produced smoke, there were two that did not. Many
of those were probably deserted; the city held nowhere near the population
it once had. However, he knew that many of those smokeless houses were
still inhabited. Inhabited, and freezing.
I should have been able to do more for them, Elend thought, eyes open to
the piercing cold wind. I should have found a way to get more coal; I
should have managed to provide for them all.
It was humbling, even depressing, to admit that the Lord Ruler had done
better than Elend himself. Despite being a heartless tyrant, the Lord Ruler
had at least kept a significant portion of the population from starving or
freezing. He had kept armies in check, and had kept crime at a manageable
level.
To the northeast, the koloss army waited. It had sent no emissaries to the
city, but it was more frightening than either Cett's or Straff's armies. The
cold wouldn't scare away its occupants; despite their bare skin, they
apparently took little notice of weather changes. This final army was the
most disturbing of the three—more dangerous, more unpredictable, and
impossible to deal with. Koloss did not bargain.
We haven't been paying enough attention to that threat, he thought as he
stood on the balcony. There's just been so much to do, so much to worry
about, that we couldn't focus on an army that might be as dangerous to our
enemies as it is to us.
It was looking less and less likely that the koloss would attack Cett or
Straff. Apparently, Jastes was enough in control to keep them waiting to
take a shot at Luthadel itself.
"My lord," said a voice from behind. "Please, come back in. That's a fell
wind. No use killing yourself from a chill."
Elend turned back. Captain Demoux stood dutifully in the room, along
with another bodyguard. In the aftermath of the assassination attempt, Ham
had insisted that Elend go about guarded. Elend hadn't complained, though
he knew there was little reason for caution anymore. Straff 1wouldn't want
to kill him now that he wasn't king.
So earnest, Elend thought, studying Demoux's face. Why do I find him
youthful? We're nearly the same age.
"Very well," Elend said, turning and striding into the room. As Demoux
closed the balcony doors, Elend removed his cloak. The suit below felt
wrong on him. Sloppy, even though he had ordered it cleaned and pressed.
The vest was too tight—his practice with the sword was slowly modifying
his body—while the coat hung loosely.
"Demoux," Elend said. "When is your next Survivor rally?"
"Tonight, my lord."
Elend nodded. He'd feared that; it would be a cold night.
"My lord," Demoux said, "do you still intend to come?"
"Of course," Elend said. "I gave my word that I would join with your
cause."
"That was before you lost the vote, my lord."
"That is immaterial," Elend said. "I am joining your movement because it
is important to the skaa, Demoux, and I want to understand the will of my. .
.of the people. I promised you dedication—and you shall have it."
Demoux seemed a bit confused, but spoke no further. Elend eyed his
desk, considering some studying, but found it hard to motivate himself in
the chill room. Instead, he pushed open the door and strode out into the
hallway. His guards followed.
He stopped himself from turning toward Vin's rooms. She needed her
rest, and it didn't do her much good to have him peeking in every half hour
to check on her. So instead he turned to wander down a different
passageway.
The back hallways of Keep Venture were tight, dark, stone constructions
of labyrinthine complexity. Perhaps it was because he'd grown up in these
passages, but he felt at home in their dark, secluded confines. They had
been the perfect place for a young man who didn't really care to be found.
Now he used them for another reason; the corridors provided a perfect place
for extended walking. He didn't point himself in any particular direction, he
just moved, working out his frustration to the beating of his own footsteps.
I can't fix the city's problems, he told himself. I have to let Penrod handle
that—he's the one the people want.
That should have made things easier for Elend. It let him focus on his
own survival, not to mention let him spend time revitalizing his relationship
with Vin. She, however, seemed different lately. Elend tried to tell himself it
was just her injury, but he sensed something deeper. Something in the way
she looked at him, something in the way she reacted to his affection. And,
despite himself, he could think of only one thing that had changed.
He was no longer king.
Vin was not shallow. She had shown him nothing but devotion and love
during their two years together. And yet, how could she not react—even if
unconsciously—to his colossal failure? During the assassination attempt, he
had watched her fight. Really watched her fight, for the first time. Until that
day, he hadn't realized just how amazing she was. She wasn't just a warrior,
and she wasn't just an Allomancer. She was a force, like thunder or wind.
The way she had killed that last man, smashing his head with her own. . .
How could she love a man like me? he thought. I couldn't even hold my
throne. I wrote the very laws that deposed me.
He sighed, continuing to walk. He felt like he should be scrambling,
trying to figure out a way to convince Vin that he was worthy of her. But
that would just make him seem more incompetent. There was no correcting
past mistakes, especially since he could see no real "mistakes" he had made.
He had done the best he could, and that had proven insufficient.
He paused at an intersection. Once, a relaxing dip into a book would have
been enough to calm him. Now he felt nervous. Tense. A little. . .like he
assumed Vin usually felt.
Maybe I could learn from her, he thought. What would Vin do in my
situation? She certainly wouldn't just wander around, brooding and feeling
sorry for herself. Elend frowned, looking down a hallway lighted by
flickering oil lamps, only half of them lit. Then he took off, waking with a
determined stride toward a particular set of rooms.
He knocked quietly, and got no response. Finally, he poked his head in.
Sazed and Tindwyl sat quietly before a desk piled high with scraps of paper
and ledgers. They both sat staring, as if at nothing, their eyes bearing the
glazedover look of someone who had been stunned. Sazed's hand rested on
the table. Tindwyl's rested on top of it.
Sazed shook himself alert suddenly, turning to regard Elend. "Lord
Venture! I am sorry. I did not hear you enter."
"It's all right, Saze," Elend said, walking into the room. As he did,
Tindwyl shook awake as well, and she removed her hand from Sazed's.
Elend nodded to Demoux and his companion—who were still following—
indicating that they should remain outside, then closed the door.
"Elend," Tindwyl said, her voice laced with its typical undercurrent of
displeasure. "What is your purpose in bothering us? You have already
proven your incompetence quite soundly—I see no need for further
discussion."
"This is still my home, Tindwyl," Elend replied. "Insult me again, and
you will find yourself ejected from the premises."
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow.
Sazed paled. "Lord Venture," he said quickly, "I don't think that Tindwyl
meant to—"
"It's all right, Sazed," Elend said, raising a hand. "She was just testing to
see if I had reverted back to my previous state of insultability."
Tindwyl shrugged. "I have heard reports of your moping through the
palace hallways like a lost child."
"Those reports are true," Elend said. "But that doesn't mean that my pride
is completely gone."
"Good," Tindwyl said, nodding to a chair. "Seat yourself, if you wish."
Elend nodded, pulling the chair over before the two and sitting. "I need
advice."
"I've given you what I can already," Tindwyl said. "In fact, I've perhaps
given you too much. My continued presence here makes it seem that I'm
taking sides."
"I'm not king anymore," Elend said. "Therefore, I have no side. I'm just a
man seeking truth."
Tindwyl smiled. "Ask your questions, then."
Sazed watched the exchange with obvious interest.
I know, Elend thought, I'm not sure I understand our relationship either.
"Here is my problem," he said. "I lost the throne, essentially, because I
wasn't willing to lie."
"Explain," Tindwyl sa1id.
"I had a chance to obscure a piece of the law," Elend said. "At the last
moment, I could have made the Assembly take me as king. Instead, I gave
them a bit of information that was true, but which ended up costing me the
throne."
"I'm not surprised," Tindwyl said.
"I doubted that you would be," Elend said. "Now, do you think I was
foolish to do as I did?"
"Yes."
Elend nodded.
"But," Tindwyl said, "that moment isn't what cost you the throne, Elend
Venture. That moment was a small thing, far too simple to credit with your
large-scale failure. You lost the throne because you wouldn't command your
armies to secure the city, because you insisted on giving the Assembly too
much freedom, and because you don't employ assassins or other forms of
pressure. In short, Elend Venture, you lost the throne because you are a
good man."
Elend shook his head. "Can you not be both a man who follows his
conscience and a good king, then?"
Tindwyl frowned in thought.
"You ask an age-old question, Elend," Sazed said quietly. "A question
that monarchs, priests, and humble men of destiny have always asked. I do
not know that there is an answer."
"Should I have told the lie, Sazed?" Elend asked.
"No," Sazed said, smiling. "Perhaps another man should have, in your
same position. But, a man must be cohesive with himself. You have made
your decisions in life, and changing yourself at the last moment—telling
this lie—would have been against who you are. It is better for you to have
done as you did and lost the throne, I think."
Tindwyl frowned. "His ideals are nice, Sazed. But what of the people?
What if they die because Elend wasn't capable of controlling his own
conscience?"
"I do not wish to argue with you, Tindwyl," Sazed said. "It is simply my
opinion that he chose well. It is his right to follow his conscience, then trust
in providence to fill in the holes caused by the conflict between morality
and logic."
Providence. "You mean God," Elend said.
"I do."
Elend shook his head. "What is God, Sazed, but a device used by
obligators?"
"Why do you make the choices that you do, Elend Venture?"
"Because they're right," Elend said.
"And why are these things right?"
"I don't know," Elend said with a sigh, leaning back. He caught a
disapproving glance from Tindwyl at his posture, but he ignored her. He
wasn't king; he could slouch if he wanted to. "You talk of God, Sazed, but
don't you preach of a hundred different religions?"
"Three hundred, actually," Sazed said.
"Well, which one do you believe?" Elend asked.
"I believe them all."
Elend shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. You've only pitched a
half-dozen to me, but I can already see that they're incompatible."
"It is not my position to judge truth, Lord Venture," Sazed said, smiling.
"I simply carry it."
Elend sighed. Priests. . .he thought. Sometimes, talking to1 Sazed is like
talking to an obligator.
"Elend," Tindwyl said, her tone softening. "I think you handled this
situation in the wrong way. However, Sazed does have a point. You were
true to your own convictions, and that is a regal attribute, I think."
"And what should I do now?" he asked.
"Whatever you wish," Tindwyl said. "It was never my place to tell you
what to do. I simply gave you knowledge of what men in your place did in
the past."
"And what would they have done?" Elend asked. "These great leaders of
yours, how would they have reacted to my situation?"
"It is a meaningless question," she said. "They would not have found
themselves in this situation, for they would not have lost their titles in the
first place."
"Is that what it's about, then?" Elend asked. "The title?"
"Isn't that what we were discussing?" Tindwyl asked.
Elend didn't answer. What do you think makes a man a good king? he had
once asked of Tindwyl. Trust, she had replied. A good king is one who is
trusted by his people—and one who deserves that trust.
Elend stood up. "Thank you, Tindwyl," he said.
Tindwyl frowned in confusion, then turned to Sazed. He looked up and
met Elend's eyes, cocking his head slightly. Then he smiled. "Come,
Tindwyl," he said. "We should return to our studies. His Majesty has work
to do, I think."
Tindwyl continued to frown as Elend left the room. His guards followed
behind as he quickly strode down the hallway.
I won't go back to the way I was, Elend thought. I won't continue to fret
and worry. Tindwyl taught me better than that, even if she never really
understood me.
Elend arrived at his rooms a few moments later. He stalked directly in,
then opened his closet. The clothing Tindwyl had chosen for him—the
clothing of a king—waited inside.
Some of you may know of my fabled memory. It is true; I need not a
Feruchemist's metalmind to memorize a sheet of words in an instant.
42
"GOOD," ELEND SAID, USING A charcoal stick to circle another
section on the city map before him. "What about here?"
Demoux scratched his chin. "Grainfield? That's a nobleman's
neighborhood, my lord."
"It used to be," Elend said. "Grainfield was filled with cousin houses to
the Ventures. When my father pulled out of the city, so did most of them."
"Then we'll probably find the homes filled with skaa transients, I'd
guess."
Elend nodded. "Move them out."
"Excuse me, my lord?" Demoux said. The two stood in Keep Venture's
large carriage landing. Soldiers moved in a bustle through the spacious
room. Many of them didn't wear uniforms; they weren't on official city
business. Elend was no longer king, but they had still come at his request.
That said something, at least.
"We need to move the skaa out of those homes," Elend continued.
"Noblemen's houses are mostly stone mansions with a lot of small rooms.
They're extremely hard to heat, requiring a separate hearth or a stove 1for
every room. The skaa tenements are depressing, but they have massive
hearths and open rooms."
Demoux nodded slowly.
"The Lord Ruler couldn't have his workers freezing," Elend said. "Those
tenements are the best way to efficiently look after a large population of
people with limited resources."
"I understand, my lord," Demoux said.
"Don't force them, Demoux," Elend said. "My personal guard—even
augmented with army volunteers—has no official authority in the city. If a
family wants to stay in their pilfered aristocratic house, let them. Just make
certain that they know there's an alternative to freezing."
Demoux nodded, then moved over to pass on the commands. Elend
turned as a messenger arrived. The man had to weave his way through an
organized jumble of soldiers receiving orders and making plans.
Elend nodded to the newcomer. "You're on the demolitions scout group,
correct?"
The man nodded as he bowed. He wasn't in uniform; he was a soldier, not
one of Elend's guards. He was a younger man, with a square jaw, balding
head, and honest smile.
"Don't I know you?" Elend said.
"I helped you a year ago, my lord," the man said. "I led you into the Lord
Ruler's palace to help rescue Lady Vin. . .."
"Goradel," Elend said, remembering. "You used to be in the Lord Ruler's
personal guard."
The man nodded. "I joined up in your army after that day. Seemed like
the thing to do."
Elend smiled. "Not my army anymore, Goradel, but I do appreciate you
coming to help us today. What's your report?"
"You were right, my lord," Goradel said, "the skaa have already robbed
the empty homes for furniture. But, not many thought of the walls. A good
half of the abandoned mansions have wooden walls on the inside, and a lot
of the tenements were made of wood. Most all of them have wooden roofs."
"Good," Elend said. He surveyed the gathering mass of men. He hadn't
told them his plans; he'd simply asked for volunteers to help him with some
manual labor. He hadn't expected the response to number in the hundreds.
"It looks like we're gathering quite a group, my lord," Demoux said,
rejoining Elend.
Elend nodded, giving leave for Goradel to withdraw. "We'll be able to try
an even more ambitious project than I'd planned."
"My lord," Demoux said. "Are you certain you want to start tearing the
city down around ourselves?"
"We either lose buildings or we lose people, Demoux," Elend said. "The
buildings go."
"And if the king tries to stop us?"
"Then we obey," Elend said. "But I don't think Lord Penrod will object.
He's too busy trying to get a bill through the Assembly that hands the city
over to my father. Besides, it's probably better for him to have these men
here, working, than it is to have them sitting and worrying in the barracks."
Demoux fell silent. Elend did as well; both knew how precarious their
position was. Only a short time had passed since the assassination attempt
and the transfer of power, and the city was in shock. Cett was still holed up
inside of Keep Hasting, and his armies had moved into position to attack
the city. Luthadel was like a man with a knife pressed very c1losely to his
throat. Each breath cut the skin.
I can't do much about that now, Elend thought. I have to make certain the
people don't freeze these next few nights. He could feel the bitter cold,
despite the daylight, his cloak, and the shelter. There were a lot of people in
Luthadel, but if he could get enough men tearing down enough buildings,
he just might be able to do some good.
"My lord!"
Elend turned as a short man with a drooping mustache approached. "Ah,
Felt," he said. "You have news?" The man was working on the poisoned-
food problem—specifically how the city was being breached.
The scout nodded. "I do indeed, my lord. We interrogated the refugees
with a Rioter, and we came up dry. Then, however, I started thinking. The
refugees seemed too obvious to me. Strangers in the city? Of course they'd
be the first ones we'd suspect. I figured, with how much has been going
wrong with the wells and the food and the like, someone has to be sneaking
in and out of the city."
Elend nodded. They'd been watching Cett's soldiers inside Keep Hasting
very carefully, and none of them was responsible. Straff's Mistborn was still
a possibility, but Vin had never believed that he was behind the poisoning.
Elend hoped that the trail—if it could be found—would lead back to
someone in his own palace, hopefully revealing who on his serving staff
had been replaced by a kandra.
"Well?" Elend asked.
"I interrogated the people who run passwalls," Felt continued. "I don't
think they're to blame."
"Passwalls?"
Felt nodded. "Covert passages out of the city. Tunnels or the like."
"Such things exist?" Elend asked with surprise.
"Of course, my lord," Felt said. "Moving between cities was very
difficult for skaa thieves during the Lord Ruler's reign. Everyone who
entered Luthadel was subject to interview and interrogation. So, ways to get
into the city covertly were very prevalent. Most of those have shut down—
the ones who used to lower people up and down by ropes over the walls. A
few are still running, but I don't think they are letting the spies in. Once that
first well was poisoned, the passwalls all got paranoid that you'd come after
them. Since then, they've only been letting people out of the city—ones
who want to run from the besieged city and the like."
Elend frowned. He wasn't certain what he thought of the fact that people
were disobeying his order that the gates be shut, with no passage out.
"Next," Felt said, "I tried the river."
"We thought of that," Elend said. "The grates covering the water are all
secure."
Felt smiled. "That they are. I sent some men down under the water to
search about, and we found several locks down below, keeping the river
grates in place."
"What?"
"Someone pried the grates free, my lord," Felt said, "then locked them
back into place so it wouldn't look suspicious. That way, they could swim in
and out at their leisure."
Elend raised an eyebrow.
"You want us to replace the grates?" Felt asked.
"No," Elend said. "No, just replace those locks with new ones, then post
men to watch. Next time those prisoners try and get into the city, I want
them to find th1emselves trapped."
Felt nodded, retreating with a happy smile on his face. His talents as a
spy hadn't been put to much good use lately, and he seemed to be enjoying
the tasks Elend was giving him. Elend made a mental note to think about
putting Felt to work on locating the kandra spy—assuming, of course, that
Felt himself wasn't the spy.
"My lord," Demoux said, approaching. "I think I might be able to offer a
second opinion on how the poisonings are occurring."
Elend turned. "Oh?"
Demoux nodded, waving for a man to approach from the side of the
room. He was younger, perhaps eighteen, and had the dirty face and
clothing of a skaa worker.
"This is Larn," Demoux said. "A member of my congregation."
The young man bowed to Elend, posture nervous.
"You may speak, Larn," Demoux said. "Tell Lord Venture what you saw."
"Well, my lord," the young man said. "I tried to go tell this to the king.
The new king, I mean." He flushed, embarrassed.
"It's all right," Elend said. "Continue."
"Well, the men there turned me away. Said the king didn't have time for
me. So, I came to Lord Demoux. I figured he might believe me."
"About what?" Elend asked.
"Inquisitor, my lord," the man said quietly. "I saw one in the city."
Elend felt a chill. "You're sure?"
The young man nodded. "I've lived in Luthadel all my life, my lord.
Watched executions a number of times. I'd recognize one of those monsters,
sure I would. I saw him. Spikes through the eyes, tall and robed, slinking
about at night. Near the center squares of the city. I promise you."
Elend shared a look with Demoux.
"He's not the only one, my lord," Demoux said quietly. "Some other
members of my congregation claimed to have seen an Inquisitor hanging
around Kredik Shaw. I dismissed the first few, but Larn, he's trustworthy. If
he said he saw something, he did. Eyes nearly as good as a Tineye, that
one."
Elend nodded slowly, and ordered a patrol from his personal guard to
keep watch in the area indicated. After that, he turned his attention back to
the wood-gathering effort. He gave the orders, organizing the men into
teams, sending some to begin working, others to gather recruits. Without
fuel, many of the city's forges had shut down, and the workers were idle.
They could use something to occupy their time.
Elend saw energy in the men's eyes as they began to split up. Elend knew
that determination, that firmness of eye and arm. It came from the
satisfaction of doing something, of not just sitting around and waiting for
fate—or kings—to act.
Elend turned back to the map, making a few notations. From the corner
of his eye, he saw Ham saunter in. "So this is where they all went!" Ham
said. "The sparring grounds are empty."
Elend looked up, smiling.
"You're back to the uniform, then?" Ham asked.
Elend glanced down at his white outfit. Designed to stand out, to set him
apart from a city stained by ash. "Yes."
"Too bad," Ham said with a sigh. "Nobody should have to wear a
uniform."
1Elend raised an eyebrow. In the face of undeniable winter, Ham had
finally taken to wearing a shirt beneath his vest. He wore no cloak or coat,
however.
Elend turned back to the map. "The clothing suits me," he said. "It just
feels right. Anyway, that vest of yours is as much a uniform as this is."
"No it's not."
"Oh?" Elend asked. "Nothing screams Thug like a man who goes about
in the winter without a coat, Ham. You've used your clothing to change how
people react to you, to let them know who you are and what you represent
—which is essentially what a uniform does."
Ham paused. "That's an interesting way of looking at it."
"What?" Elend said. "You never argued about something like this with
Breeze?"
Ham shook his head as he turned to look over the groups of men,
listening to the men Elend had appointed to give orders.
He's changed, Elend thought. Running this city, dealing with all of this,
it's even changed him. The Thug was more solemn, now—more focused. Of
course, he had even more stake in the city's safety than the rest of the crew.
It was sometimes hard to remember that the free-spirited Thug was a family
man. Ham tended to not talk much about Mardra or his two children. Elend
suspected it was habit; Ham had spent much of his marriage living apart
from his family in order to keep them safe.
This whole city is my family, Elend thought, watching the soldiers leave
to do their work. Some might have thought something as simple as
gathering firewood to be a mundane task, of little relevance in a city
threatened by three armies. However, Elend knew that the freezing skaa
people would receive the fuel with as much appreciation as they would
salvation from the armies.
The truth was that Elend felt a little like his soldiers did. He felt a
satisfaction—a thrill even—from doing something, anything, to help.
"What if Cett's attack comes?" Ham said, still looking over the soldiers.
"A good portion of the army will be out scattered through the city."
"Even if we have a thousand men in my teams, that's not much of a dent
in our forces. Besides, Clubs thinks there will be plenty of time to gather
them. We've got messengers set up."
Elend looked back at his map. "Anyway, I don't think Cett's going to
attack just yet. He's pretty safe in that keep, there. We'll never take him—
we'd have to pull too many men away from the city defenses, leaving
ourselves exposed. The only thing he really has to worry about is my father.
. ."
Elend trailed off.
"What?" Ham said.
"That's why Cett is here," Elend said, blinking in surprise. "Don't you
see? He intentionally left himself without options. If Straff attacks, Cett's
armies will end up fighting alongside our own. He's locked in his fate with
ours."
Ham frowned. "Seems like a pretty desperate move."
Elend nodded, thinking back to his meeting with Cett. "'Desperate,'" he
said. "That's a good word. Cett is desperate for some reason—one I haven't
been able to figure out. Anyway, by putting himself in here, he sides with us
against Straff—whether we want the alliance or not."
"But, what if the Assembly gives the city to Straff? If our men join with
him and attack Cett?"
"That's the1 gamble he took," Elend said. Cett never intended to be able
to walk away from the confrontation here in Luthadel. He intends to take
the city or be destroyed.
He is waiting, hoping Straff will attack, worrying that we'll just give into
him. But neither can happen as long as Straff is afraid of Vin. A three-way
standoff. With the koloss as a fourth element that nobody can predict.
Someone needed to do something to tip the scales. "Demoux," Elend
said. "Are you ready to take over here?"
Captain Demoux looked over, nodding.
Elend turned to Ham. "I have a question for you, Ham."
Ham raised an eyebrow.
"How insane are you feeling at the moment?
Elend led his horse out of the tunnel into the scraggly landscape outside
of Luthadel. He turned, craning to look up at the wall. Hopefully, the
soldiers there had gotten his message, and wouldn't mistake him for a spy or
a scout of one of the enemy armies. He'd rather not end up in Tindwyl's
histories as the ex-king who'd died by an arrow from one of his own men.
Ham led a small, grizzled woman from the tunnel. As Elend had guessed,
Ham had easily found a suitable passwall to get them out of the city.
"Well, there you go," said the elderly woman, resting on her cane.
"Thank you, good woman," Elend said. "You have served your
dominance well this day."
The woman snorted, raising an eyebrow—though, from what Elend could
tell, she was quite nearly blind. Elend smiled, pulling out a pouch and
handing it to her. She reached into it with gnarled, but surprisingly
dexterous, fingers and counted out the contents. "Three extra?"
"To pay you to leave a scout here," Elend said. "To watch for our return."
"Return?" the woman asked. "You aren't running?"
"No," Elend said. "I just have some business with one of the armies."
The woman raised the eyebrow again. "Well, none of Granny's business,"
she muttered, turning back down the hole with a tapping cane. "For three
clips, I can find a grandson to sit out here for a few hours. Lord Ruler
knows, I have enough of them."
Ham watched her go, a spark of fondness in his eyes.
"How long have you known about this place?" Elend asked, watching as
a couple of burly men pulled closed the hidden section of stone. Half
burrowed, half cut from the wall's stones themselves, the tunnel was a
remarkable feat. Even after hearing about the existence of such things from
Felt earlier, it was still a shock to travel through one hidden not a few
minutes' ride from Keep Venture itself.
Ham turned back to him as the false wall snapped shut. "Oh, I've known
of this for years and years," he said. "Granny Hilde used to give me sweets
when I was a kid. Of course, that was really just a cheap way of getting
some quiet—yet well-targeted—publicity for her passwall. When I was
grown, I used to use this to sneak Mardra and the kids in and out of the city
when they came to visit."
"Wait," Elend said. "You grew up in Luthadel?"
"Of course."
"On the streets, like Vin?"
Ham shook his head. "Not really like Vin," he said in a subdued voice,
scanning 1the wall. "I don't really think anyone grew up like Vin. I had skaa
parents—my grandfather was the nobleman. I was involved with the
underground, but I had my parents for a good portion of my childhood.
Besides, I was a boy—and a large one." He turned toward Elend. "I suspect
that makes a big difference."
Elend nodded.
"You're not going to shut this place down, are you?" Ham asked.
Elend turned with shock. "Why would I?"
Ham shrugged. "It doesn't exactly seem like the kind of honest enterprise
that you would approve of. There are probably people fleeing from the city
nightly through this hole. Granny Hilde is known to take coin and not ask
questions—even if she does grumble at you a bit."
Ham did have a point. Probably why he didn't tell me about the place
until I specifically asked. His friends walked a fine line, close to their old
ties with the underground, yet working hard to build up the government
they'd sacrificed so much to create.
"I'm not king," Elend said, leading his horse away from the city. "What
Granny Hilde does isn't any of my business."
Ham moved up beside him, looking relieved. Elend could see that relief
dissipate, however, as the reality of what they were doing settled in. "I don't
like this, El."
They stopped walking as Elend mounted. "Neither do I."
Ham took a deep breath, then nodded.
My old nobleman friends would have tried to talk me out of this, Elend
thought with amusement. Why did I surround myself with people who had
been loyal to the Survivor? They expect their leaders to take irrational
risks.
"I'll go with you," Ham said.
"No," Elend said. "It won't make a difference. Stay here, wait to see if I
get back. If I don't, tell Vin what happened."
"Sure, I'll tell her," Ham said wryly. "Then I'll proceed to remove her
daggers from my chest. Just make sure you come back, all right?"
Elend nodded, barely paying attention. His eyes were focused on the
army in the distance. An army without tents, carriages, food carts, or
servants. An army who had eaten the foliage to the ground in a wide swath
around them. Koloss.
Sweat made the reins slick in Elend's hands. This was different from
before, when he'd gone into Straff's army and Cett's keep. This time he was
alone. Vin couldn't get him out if things went bad; she was still recovering
from her wounds, and nobody knew what Elend was doing but Ham.
What do I owe the people of this city? Elend thought. They rejected me.
Why do I still insist on trying to protect them?
"I recognize that look, El," Ham said. "Let's go back."
Elend closed his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh. Then he snapped his eyes
open and kicked his horse into a gallop.
It had been years since he'd seen koloss, and that experience had come
only at his father's insistence. Straff hadn't trusted the creatures, and had
never liked having garrisons of them in the Northern Dominance, one just a
few days' march from his home city of Urteau. Those koloss had been a
reminder, a warning, from the Lord Ruler.
Elend rode his horse hard, as if using its momentum to bolster his own
will. Aside from one brief visit to the Urteau kol1oss garrison, everything
he knew of the creatures came from books—but Tindwyl's instruction had
weakened his once absolute, and slightly naive, trust in his learning.
It will have to be enough, Elend thought as he approached the camp. He
gritted his teeth, slowing his animal as he approached a wandering squad of
Koloss.
It was as he remembered. One large creature—its skin revoltingly split
and cracked by stretch marks—led a few medium-sized beasts, whose
bleeding rips were only beginning to appear at the corners of their mouths
and the edges of their eyes. A smattering of smaller creatures—their baggy
skin loose and sagging beneath their eyes and arms—accompanied their
betters.
Elend reined in his horse, trotting it over to the largest beast. "Take me to
Jastes."
"Get off your horse," the koloss said.
Elend looked the creature directly in the eyes. Atop his horse, he was
nearly the same height. "Take me to Jastes."
The koloss regarded him with a set of beady, unreadable eyes. It bore a
rip from one eye to the other, above the nose, a secondary rip curving down
to one of the nostrils. The nose itself was pulled so tight it was twisted and
flattened, held to the bone a few inches off-center.
This was the moment. The books said the creature would either do as
commanded or simply attack him. Elend sat tensely.
"Come," the koloss snapped, turning to walk back toward the camp. The
rest of the creatures surrounded Elend's horse, and the beast shuffled
nervously. Elend kept a tight hold on his reins and nudged the animal
forward. It responded skittishly.
He should have felt good at his small victory, but his tension only
increased. They moved forward into the koloss camp. It was like being
swallowed. Like letting a rockslide collapse around you. Koloss looked up
as he passed, watching him with their red, emotionless eyes. Many others
just stood silently around their cooking fires, unresponsive, like men who
had been born dull-minded and witless.
Others fought. They killed each other, wrestling on the ground before
their uncaring companions. No philosopher, scientist, or scholar had been
able to determine exactly what set off a koloss. Greed seemed a good
motivation. Yet, they would sometimes attack when there was plenty of
food, killing a companion for his hunk of beef. Pain was another good
motivator, apparently, as was a challenge to authority. Carnal, visceral
reasons. And yet, there seemed to be times when they attacked without any
cause or reason.
And after fighting, they would explain themselves in calm tones, as if
their actions were perfectly rational. Elend shivered as he heard yells,
telling himself that he would probably be all right until he reached Jastes.
Koloss usually just attacked each other.
Unless they got into a blood frenzy.
He pushed that thought away, instead focusing on the things that Sazed
had mentioned about his trip into the koloss camp. The creatures wore the
wide, brutish iron swords that Sazed had described. The bigger the koloss,
the bigger the weapon. When a koloss reached a size where he thought he
needed a larger sword, he had only two choices: find one that had been
discarded, or kill someone and take theirs. A koloss population could often
be crudely controlled by increasing or decreasing the number of swords
available to the group.
None of the scholars knew how the creatures bred.
As Sazed had explained, these koloss also had strange little pouches tied
to their sword straps. What are they? Elend thought. Sazed said he saw the
largest koloss carrying three or four. But that one leading my group has
almost twenty. Even the small koloss in Elend's group had three pouches.
That's the difference, he thought. Whatever is in those pouches, could it
be the way Jastes controls the creatures?
There was no way to know, save begging one of the pouches off a koloss
—and he doubted they would let them go.
As he walked, he noticed another oddity: some of the koloss were
wearing clothing. Before, he'd seen them only in loincloths, as Sazed had
reported. Yet, many of these koloss had pants, shirts, or skirts pulled onto
their bodies. They wore the clothing without regard for size, and most
pieces were so tight they had torn. Others were so loose they had to be tied
on. Elend saw a few of the larger koloss wearing garments like bandanas
tied around their arms or heads.
"We are not koloss," the lead koloss suddenly said, turning to Elend as
they walked.
Elend frowned. "Explain."
"You think we are koloss," it said through lips that were stretched too
tightly to work properly. "We are humans. We will live in your city. We will
kill you, and we will take it."
Elend shivered, realizing the source of the mismatched garments. They
had come from the village that the koloss had attacked, the one whose
refugees had trickled into Luthadel. This appeared to be a new development
in koloss thinking. Or, had it always been there, repressed by the Lord
Ruler? The scholar in Elend was fascinated. The rest of him was simply
horrified.
His koloss guide paused before a small group of tents, the only such
structures in the camp. Then the lead koloss turned and yelled, startling
Elend's horse. Elend fought to keep his mount from throwing him as the
koloss jumped and attacked one of its companions, proceeding to pummel it
with a massive fist.
Elend won his struggle. The lead koloss, however, did not.
Elend climbed off his horse, patting the beast on the neck as the
victimized koloss pulled his sword from the chest of his former leader. The
survivor—who now bore several cuts in his skin that hadn't come from
stretching—bent down to harvest the pouches tied to the corpse's back.
Elend watched with a muted fascination as the koloss stood and spoke.
"He was never a good leader," it said in a slurred voice.
I can't let these monsters attack my city, Elend thought. I have to do
something. He pulled his horse forward, turning his back on the koloss as he
entered the secluded section of camp, watched over by a group of nervous
young men in uniforms. Elend handed his reins to one of them.
"Take care of this for me," Elend said, striding forward.
"Wait!" one of the soldiers said. "Halt!"
Elend turned sharply, facing the shorter man, who was trying to both
level his spear at Elend and keep an eye on the koloss. Elend didn't try to be
harsh; he just wanted to keep his own anxiety under control and keep
moving. Either way, the resulting glare probably would have impressed
even Tindwyl.
The soldier jerked to a halt.
"I am Elend Venture," Elend said. "You know that name?"
The man nodded.
"You may announce me to Lord Lekal," Elend said. "Just get to the tent
before I do."
The young man took off at a dash. Elend followed, striding up to the tent,
where other soldiers stood hesitantly.
What must it have done to them, Elend wondered, living surrounded by
koloss, so terribly outnumbered? Feeling a stab of pity, he didn't try to bully
his way in. He stood with faux patience until a voice called from inside.
"Let him in."
Elend brushed past the guards and threw open the tent flap.
The months had not been kind to Jastes Lekal. Somehow, the few wisps
of hair on his head looked far more pathetic than complete baldness would
have. His suit was sloppy and stained, his eyes underlined by a pair of deep
bags. He was pacing, and jumped slightly when Elend entered.
Then he froze for a moment, eyes wide. Finally, he raised a quivering
hand to push back hair he didn't have. "Elend?" he asked. "What in the Lord
Ruler's name happened to you?"
"Responsibility, Jastes," Elend said quietly. "It appears that neither of us
were ready for it."
"Out," Jastes said, waving to his guards. They shuffled past Elend,
closing the tent flap behind them.
"It's been a while, Elend," Jastes said, chuckling weakly.
Elend nodded.
"I remember those days," Jastes said, "sitting in your den or mine,
sharing a drink with Telden. We were so innocent, weren't we?"
"Innocent," Elend said, "but hopeful."
"Want something to drink?" Jastes said, turning toward the room's desk.
Elend eyed the bottles and flasks lying in the corner of the room. They were
all empty. Jastes removed a full bottle from the desk and poured Elend a
small cup, the size and clear color an indication that this was no simple
dinner wine.
Elend accepted the small cup, but did not drink. "What happened, Jastes?
How did the clever, thoughtful philosopher I knew turn into a tyrant?"
"Tyrant?" Jastes snapped, downing his cup in a single shot. "I'm no
tyrant. Your father's the tyrant. I'm just a realist."
"Sitting at the center of a koloss army doesn't seem to be a very realistic
position to me."
"I can control them."
"And Suisna?" Elend asked. "The village they slaughtered?"
Jastes wavered. "That was an unfortunate accident."
Elend looked down at the drink in his hand, then threw it aside, the liquor
splashing on the dusty tent floor. "This isn't my father's den, and we are not
friends any longer. I will call no man friend who leads something like this
against my city. What happened to your honor, Jastes Lekal?"
Jastes snorted, glancing at the spilled liquor. "That's always been the
problem with you, Elend. So certain, so optimistic, so self-righteous."
"It was our optimism," Elend said, stepping forward. "We wanted to
change things, Jastes, not destroy them!"
"Is that so?" Jastes countered, showing a temper Elend had never seen in
his friend. "You want to know why I'm here, Elend? Did you even pay
attention to what was happening in the Southern Dominance while you
played in Luthadel?"
"I'm sorry about what happened to your family, Jastes."
"Sorry?" Jastes said, snatching the bottle off his desk. "You're sorry? I
implemented your plans, Elend. I did everything we talked about—
freedom, political honesty. I trusted my allies rather than crushing them into
submission. And you know what happened?"
Elend closed his eyes.
"They killed everyone, Elend," Jastes said. "That's what you do when you
take over. You kill your rivals and their families—even the young girls,
even the babies. And you leave their bodies, as a warning. That's good
politics. That's how you stay in power!"
"It's easy to believe in something when you win all the time, Jastes,"
Elend said, opening his eyes. "The losses are what define a man's faith."
"Losses?" Jastes demanded. "My sister was a loss?"
"No, I mean—"
"Enough!" Jastes snapped, slamming the bottle down on his desk.
"Guards!"
Two men threw back the tent flap and moved into the room.
"Take His Majesty captive," Jastes said, with an unsteady wave of his
hand. "Send a messenger to the city, tell them that we want to negotiate."
"I'm not king anymore, Jastes," Elend said.
Jastes stopped.
"Do you think I'd come here and let myself get captured if I were king?"
Elend asked. "They deposed me. The Assembly invoked a no-confidence
clause and chose a new king."
"You bloody idiot," Jastes said.
"Losses, Jastes," Elend said. "It hasn't been as hard for me as it was for
you, but I do think I understand."
"So," Jastes said, running a hand through his "hair," "that fancy suit and
haircut didn't save you, eh?"
"Take your koloss and go, Jastes."
"That sounded like a threat, Elend," Jastes said. "You aren't king, you
don't have an army, and I don't see your Mistborn around. What grounds do
you have for threats?"
"They're koloss," Elend said. "Do you really want them getting into the
city? It's your home, Jastes—or, it was once. There are thousands of people
inside!"
"I can. . .control my army," Jastes said.
"No, I doubt you can," Elend said. "What happened, Jastes? Did they
decide they needed a king? They decided that's the way that 'humans' did it,
so they should do it, too? What is it that they carry in those pouches?"
Jastes didn't answer.
Elend sighed. "What happens when one of them just snaps and attacks
you?"
Jastes shook his head. "I'm sorry, Elend," he said quietly. "I can't let
Straff get that atium."
"And my people?"
Jastes paused only briefly, then lowered his eyes and motioned to the
guards. One laid a hand on Elend's shoulder.
Elend's reaction surprised even himself. He slammed his elbow up into
the man's face, shattering his nose, then took the other man down with a
kick to the leg. Before Jastes could do more than cry out, Elend jumped
forward.
Elend ri1pped an obsidian knife—given to him by Vin—from his boot
and caught Jastes by the shoulder. Elend slammed the whimpering man
around, pushing him backward onto the desk and—barely thinking to
consider his actions—rammed the knife into his old friend's shoulder.
Jastes emitted a loud, pathetic scream.
"If killing you would do anything useful, Jastes," Elend growled, "I'd do
it right now. But I don't know how you control these things, and I don't
want to set them loose."
Soldiers piled into the room. Elend didn't look up. He slapped Jastes,
stopping his cries of pain.
"You listen," Elend said. "I don't care if you've been hurt, I don't care if
you don't believe in the philosophies anymore, and I don't really care if you
get yourself killed playing politics with Straff and Cett.
"But I do care if you threaten my people. I want you to march your army
out of my dominance—go attack Straff's homeland, or maybe Cett's.
They're both undefended. I promise I won't let your enemies get the atium.
"And, as a friend, I'll give you a bit of counsel. Think about that wound
in your arm for a little while, Jastes. I was your best friend, and I nearly
killed you. What the hell are you doing sitting in the middle of an entire
army of deranged koloss?"
Soldiers surrounded him. Elend stood, ripping the knife from Jastes's
body and spinning the man around, pressing the weapon against his throat.
The guards froze.
"I'm leaving," Elend said, pushing the confused Jastes ahead of him,
moving out of the tent. He noticed with some concern that there were barely
a dozen human guards. Sazed had counted more. Where had Jastes lost
them?
There was no sign of Elend's horse. So he kept a wary eye on the
soldiers, pulling Jastes toward the invisible line between the human camp
and the koloss one. Elend turned as he reached the perimeter, then pushed
Jastes back toward his men. They caught him, one pulling out a bandage for
the arm. Others made moves as if to chase Elend, but they paused, hesitant.
Elend had crossed the line into the koloss camp. He stood quietly,
watching the pathetic group of young soldiers, Jastes at their center. Even as
they ministered to him, Elend could see the look in Jastes's eyes. Hatred. He
wouldn't retreat. The man Elend had known was dead, replaced by this
product of a new world that didn't kindly regard philosophers and idealists.
Elend turned away, walking among the koloss. A group of them quickly
approached. The same one as before? He couldn't tell for certain.
"Take me out," Elend commanded, meeting the eyes of the largest koloss
in the team. Either Elend seemed more commanding now, or this koloss
was more easily cowed, for there was no argument. The creature simply
nodded and began to shuffle out of the camp, his team surrounding Elend.
This trip was a waste, Elend thought with frustration. All I did was
antagonize Jastes. I risked my life for nothing.
If only I could find out what was in those pouches!
He eyed the group of koloss around him. It was a typical group, ranging
in size from five feet to one ten-foot monstrosity. They walked along with
slumped, unengaged postures. . ..
Elend still had his knife out.
This is stupid, he thought. For 1some reason, that didn't stop him from
choosing the smallest koloss in the group, taking a deep breath, and
attacking.
The rest of the koloss paused to watch. The creature Elend had chosen
spun—but in the wrong direction. It turned to face its companion koloss,
the one nearest to it in size, as Elend tackled it, ramming the knife into its
back.
Even at five feet with a small build, the koloss was incredibly strong. It
tossed Elend off, bellowing in pain. Elend, however, managed to keep hold
of his dagger.
Can't let it get out that sword, he thought, scrambling to his feet and
ramming his knife into the creature's thigh. The koloss dropped again,
punching at Elend with one arm, fingers reaching for its sword with the
other. Elend took the punch to the chest, and fell back to the sooty ground.
He groaned, gasping. The koloss pulled out its sword, but had trouble
standing. Both knife wounds bled stark red blood; the liquid seemed
brighter, more reflective, than that of a human, but that might have just been
a contrast with the deep blue skin.
The koloss finally managed to gain its feet, and Elend realized his
mistake. He'd let the adrenaline of his confrontation with Jastes—his
frustration at his inability to stop the armies—drive him. He'd sparred a lot
lately, but he was in no position to take a koloss.
But it was far too late to worry about that now.
Elend rolled out of the way as a thick, clublike sword smashed to the
ground beside him. Instincts overrode terror, and he mostly managed to
avoid the backswing. It took him a bit in the side, spraying a patch of blood
across his once white uniform, but he barely even felt the cut.
Only one way to win a knife fight against a guy with a sword. . .Elend
thought, gripping his knife. The thought, oddly, hadn't come from one of his
trainers, or even from Vin. He wasn't sure where it came from, but he
trusted it.
Close in tight as fast as possible, and kill quickly.
And Elend attacked. The koloss swung as well. Elend could see the
attack, but couldn't do anything about it. He could only throw himself
forward, knife raised, teeth clenched.
He rammed his knife into the koloss's eye, barely managing to get inside
the creature's reach. Even so, the hilt of the sword hit him in the stomach.
Both dropped.
Elend groaned quietly, slowly becoming aware of the hard, ash-packed
earth and weeds eaten down to their roots. A fallen twig was scratching his
cheek. Odd that he would notice that, considering the pain in his chest. He
stumbled to his feet. The koloss he'd attacked did not rise. Its companions
stood, looking unconcerned, though their eyes were focused on him. They
seemed to want something.
"He ate my horse," Elend said, saying the first thing that came to his
clouded mind.
The group of koloss nodded. Elend stumbled forward, wiping the ash
from his cheek with a dazed hand as he knelt beside the dead creature. He
ripped his knife out, then slid it back in his boot. Next he unfastened the
pouches; this koloss had two.
Finally, not certain why, he grabbed the creature's large sword and rested
it up on his shoulder. It was so weighty that he could barely carry it, and
certainly wouldn't be able to swing it. How does a creature so small use
something like this?
The koloss 1watched him work without comment; then they led him out
of the camp. Once they had retreated, Elend pulled open one of the pouches
and looked inside.
He shouldn't have been surprised by what he found inside. Jastes had
decided to control his army the old-fashioned way.
He was paying them.
The others call me mad. As I have said, that may be true.
43
MIST POURED INTO THE DARK room, collapsing around Vin like a
waterfall as she stood in the open balcony doorway. Elend was a motionless
lump sleeping in his bed a short distance away.
Apparently, Mistress, OreSeur had explained, he went into the koloss
camp alone. You were asleep, and none of us knew what he was doing. I
don't think he managed to persuade the creatures not to attack, but he did
come back with some very useful information.
OreSeur sat on his haunches beside her. He had not asked why Vin had
come to Elend's rooms, nor why she stood, quietly watching the former
king in the night.
She couldn't protect him. She tried so hard, but the impossibility of
keeping even one person safe suddenly seemed so real—so tangible—to her
that she felt sick.
Elend had been right to go out. He was his own man, competent, kingly.
What he had done would only put him in more danger, however. Fear had
been a companion of hers for such a long time that she had grown
accustomed to it, and it rarely caused a physical reaction in her. Yet,
watching him sleep quietly, she found her hands traitorously unsteady.
I saved him from the assassins. I protected him. I'm a powerful
Allomancer. Why, then, do I feel so helpless?
So alone.
She walked forward, bare feet silent as she stepped up to Elend's bed. He
did not wake. She stood for a long moment, just looking at him peaceful in
his slumber.
OreSeur growled quietly.
Vin spun. A figure stood on the balcony, straight-backed and black, a
near silhouette even to her tin-enhanced eyes. Mist fell before him, pooling
on the floor, spreading out like an ethereal moss.
"Zane," she whispered.
"He is not safe, Vin," he said, stepping slowly into the room, pushing a
wave of mist before him.
She looked back at Elend. "He never will be."
"I came to tell you that there is a traitor in your midst."
Vin looked up. "Who?" she asked.
"The man, Demoux," Zane said. "He contacted my father a short time
before the assassination attempt, offering to open the gates and give up the
city."
Vin frowned. That makes no sense.
Zane stepped forward. "Cett's work, Vin. He is a snake, even among high
lords. I don't know how he bribed away one of your own men, but I do
know that Demoux tried to provoke my father to attack the city during the
voting."
Vin paused. If Straff had attacked at that moment, it would have
reinforced the impression that he had sent the assassins in the first place.
"Elend and Penrod were supposed to die," Zane said. "With 1the
Assembly in chaos, Cett could have taken charge. He could have led his
forces—along with your own—against Straff's attacking army. He would
have become the savior who protected Luthadel against the tyranny of an
invader. . .."
Vin stood quietly. Just because Zane said it didn't mean it was true. Yet,
her investigations whispered that Demoux was the traitor.
She'd recognized the assassin at the assembly, and he had been from
Cett's retinue, so she knew that Zane was telling the truth about at least one
thing. Plus, Cett had precedent for sending Allomancer assassins: he had
sent the ones months ago, when Vin had used the last of her atium. Zane
had saved her life during that fight.
She clenched her fists, frustration biting at her chest. If he's right, then
Demoux is dead, and an enemy kandra has been in the palace, spending his
days just steps away from Elend. Even if Zane lies, we still have a tyrant
inside the city, another without. A force of koloss salivating over the people.
And Elend doesn't need me.
Because there's nothing I can do.
"I see your frustration," Zane whispered, stepping up beside Elend's bed,
looking down at his sleeping brother. "You keep listening to him. You want
to protect him, but he won't let you." Zane looked up, meeting her eyes. She
saw an implication in them.
There was something she could do—the thing a part of her had wanted to
do from the beginning. The thing she'd been trained to do.
"Cett almost killed the man you love," Zane said. "Your Elend does as he
wishes. Well, let us do as you wish." He looked into her eyes. "We have
been someone else's knives for too long. Let's show Cett why he should fear
us."
Her fury, her frustration at the siege, yearned to do as Zane suggested.
Yet, she wavered, her thoughts in chaos. She had killed—killed well—just a
short time before, and it had terrified her. Yet. . .Elend could take risks—
insane risks, traveling into an army of koloss on his own. It almost felt like
a betrayal. She had worked so hard to protect him, straining herself,
exposing herself. Then, just a few days later, he wandered alone into a camp
full of monsters.
She gritted her teeth. Part of her whispered that if Elend wouldn't be
reasonable and stay out of danger, she'd just have to go and make sure the
threats against him were removed.
"Let's go," she whispered.
Zane nodded. "Realize this," he said. "We can't just assassinate him.
Another warlord will take his place, and take his armies. We have to attack
hard. We have to hit that army so soundly that whoever takes over for Cett
is so frightened that he withdraws."
Vin paused, looking away from him, nails biting into her own palms.
"Tell me," he said, stepping closer to her. "What would your Kelsier tell
you to do?"
The answer was simple. Kelsier would never have gotten into this
situation. He had been a hard man, a man with little tolerance for any who
threatened those he loved. Cett and Straff wouldn't have lasted a single
night at Luthadel without feeling Kelsier's knife.
There was a part of her that had always been awed by his powerful,
utilitarian brutality.
There are two ways to stay safe, Reen's voice whispered to her. Either be
so quiet and harmless that people ignore you, or be so dangerous that
they're terrified 1of you.
She met Zane's eyes and nodded. He smiled, then moved over and
jumped out the window.
"OreSeur," she whispered once he was gone. "My atium."
The dog paused, then padded up to her, his shoulder splitting. "Mistress. .
." he said slowly. "Do not do this."
She glanced at Elend. She couldn't protect him from everything. But she
could do something.
She took the atium from OreSeur. Her hands no longer shook. She felt
cold.
"Cett has threatened all that I love," she whispered. "He will soon know
that there is something in this world more deadly than his assassins.
Something more powerful than his army. Something more terrifying than
the Lord Ruler himself.
"And I am coming for him."
Mist duty, they called it.
Every soldier had to take his turn, standing in the dark with a sputtering
torch. Someone had to watch. Had to stare into those shifting, deceitful
mists and wonder if anything was out there. Watching.
Wellen knew there was.
He knew it, but he never spoke. Soldiers laughed at such superstitions.
They had to go out in the mists. They were used to it. They knew better
than to fear it.
Supposedly.
"Hey," Jarloux said, stepping up to the edge of the wall. "Wells, do you
see something out there?"
Of course he didn't. They stood with several dozen others on the
perimeter of Keep Hasting, watching from the outer keep wall—a low
fortification, perhaps fifteen feet tall, that surrounded the grounds. Their job
was to look for anything suspicious in the mists.
"Suspicious." That was the word they used. It was all suspicious. It was
mist. That shifting darkness, that void made of chaos and hatred. Wellen
had never trusted it. They were out there. He knew.
Something moved in the darkness. Wellen stepped back, staring into the
void, his heart beginning to flutter, hands beginning to sweat as he raised
his spear.
"Yeah," Jarloux said, squinting. "I swear, I see. . ."
It came, as Wellen had always known it would. Like a thousand gnats on
a hot day, like a hail of arrows shot by an entire army. Coins sprayed across
the battlements. A wall of shimmering death, hundreds of trails zipping
through the mists. Metal rang against stone, and men cried out in pain.
Wellen stepped back, raising his spear, as Jarloux yelled the alarm.
Jarloux died halfway through the call, a coin snapping through his mouth,
throwing out a chip of tooth as it proceeded out the back of his head.
Jarloux collapsed, and Wellen stumbled away from the corpse, knowing that
it was too late to run.
The coins stopped. Silence in the air. Men lay dying or groaning at his
feet.
Then they came. Two dark shadows of death in the night. Ravens in the
mist. They flew over Wellen with a rustle of black cloth.
And they left him behind, alone amid the corpses of what had once been
a squad of forty men.
Vin landed in a crouch, bare feet on the cool stone cobbles of the Hasting
courtyard. Zane landed upright, standing—as always—with his towering air
of self-confidence.
Pewter blazed within her, giving her muscles the taut energy of a
thousand excited moments. She easily ignored the pain of her wounded
side. Her sole bead of atium rested in her stomach, but she didn't use it. Not
yet. Not unless she was right, and Cett proved to be Mistborn.
"We'll go from the bottom up," Zane said.
Vin nodded. The central tower of Keep Hasting was many stories high,
and they couldn't know which one Cett was on. If they started low, he
wouldn't be able to escape.
Besides. Going up would be more difficult. The energy in Vin's limbs
cried for release. She'd waited, remained coiled, for far too long. She was
tired of weakness, tired of being restrained. She had spent months as a
knife, held immobile at someone's throat.
It was time to cut.
The two dashed forward. Torches began to light around them as Cett's
men—those who camped in the courtyard—awakened to the alarm. Tents
unfurled and collapsed, men yelling in surprise, looking for the army that
assailed them. They could only wish that they were so lucky.
Vin jumped straight up into the air, and Zane spun, throwing a bag of
coins around him. Hundreds of bits of copper sparkled in the air beneath her
—a peasant's fortune. Vin landed with a rustle, and they both Pushed, their
power throwing the coins outward. The torch-sparkled missiles ripped
through the camp, dropping surprised, drowsy men.
Vin and Zane continued toward the central tower. A squad of soldiers had
formed up at the tower's front. They still seemed disoriented, confused, and
sleepy, but they were armed. Armed with metal armor and steel weapons—
a choice that, had they actually been facing an enemy army, would have
been wise.
Zane and Vin slid into the midst of the soldiers. Zane tossed a single coin
into the air between them. Vin reached out and Pushed against it, feeling
Zane's weight as he also Pushed against it.
Braced against each other, they both Pushed in opposite directions,
throwing their weight against the breastplates of the soldiers to either side.
With flared pewter—holding each other steady—their Pushes scattered the
soldiers as if they had been slapped by enormous hands. Spears and swords
twisted in the night, clattering to the cobbles. Breastplates towed bodies
away.
Vin extinguished her steel as she felt Zane's weight come off the coin.
The sparkling bit of metal bounced to the ground between them, and Zane
turned, throwing up his hand toward the single soldier who remained
standing directly between Zane and the keep doors.
A squad of soldiers raced up behind Zane, but they suddenly halted as he
Pushed against them—then sent the transfer of weight directly into the lone
soldier. The unfortunate man crashed backward into the keep doors.
Bones crunched. The doors flung open as the soldier burst into the room
beyond. Zane ducked through the open doorway, and Vin moved smoothly
behind him, her bare feet leaving rough cobbles and falling on smooth
marble instead.
Soldiers waited inside. These didn't wear armor, and they carried large
wooden shields to block coins. They were armed with staves or obsidian
swords. Hazekillers—men trained specifically to fight Allomancers. There
were, perhaps, fifty of them.
Now it begins in earnest, Vin thought, leaping into the air and Pushing
off the door's hinges.
Zane led by Pushing on the same man he'd used to brea1k open the doors,
throwing the corpse toward a group of hazekillers. As the soldier crashed
into them, Vin landed amid a second group. She spun on the floor, whipping
out her legs and flaring pewter, tripping a good four men. As the others
tried to strike, she Pushed downward against a coin in her pouch, ripping it
free and throwing herself upward. She spun in the air, catching a falling
staff discarded by a tripped soldier.
Obsidian cracked against the white marble where she had been. Vin came
down with her own weapon and struck, attacking faster than anyone should
be able to, hitting ears, chins, and throats. Skulls cracked. Bones broke. She
was barely breathing hard when she found all ten of her opponents down.
Ten men. . .didn't Kelsier once tell me he had trouble with half a dozen
hazekillers?
No time to think. A large group of soldiers charged her. She yelled and
jumped toward them, throwing her staff into the face of the first man she
met. The others raised their shields, surprised, but Vin whipped out a pair of
obsidian daggers as she landed. She rammed them into the thighs of two
men before her, then spun past them, attacking flesh where she saw it.
An attack flickered from the corner of her eye, and she snapped up an
arm, blocking the wooden staff as it came for her head. The wood cracked,
and she took the man down with a wide sweep of the dagger, nearly
beheading him. She jumped backward as the others moved in, braced
herself, then yanked on the armored corpse Zane had used before, Pulling it
toward her.
Shields did little good against a missile so large. Vin smashed the corpse
into her opponents, sweeping them before her. To the side, she could see the
remnants of the hazekillers who had attacked Zane. Zane stood among
them, a black pillar before the fallen, arms outstretched. He met her eyes,
then nodded toward the rear of the chamber.
Vin ignored the few remaining hazekillers. She Pushed against the corpse
and sent herself sliding across the floor. Zane jumped up, Pushing back,
shattering his way through a window and into the mists. Vin quickly did a
check of the back rooms: no Cett. She turned and took down a straggling
hazekiller as she ducked into the lift shaft.
She needed no elevator. She shot straight up on a Pushed coin, bursting
out onto the third floor. Zane would take the second.
Vin landed quietly on the marble floor, hearing footsteps come down a
stairwell beside her. She recognized this large, open room: it was the
chamber where she and Elend had met Cett for dinner. It was now empty,
even the table removed, but she recognized the circular perimeter of
stained-glass windows.
Hazekillers burst from the kitchen room. Dozens. There must be another
stairwell back there, Vin thought as she darted toward the stairwell beside
her. Dozens more were coming out there, however, and the two groups
moved to surround her.
Fifty-to-one must have seemed like good odds for the men, and they
charged confidently. She glanced at the open kitchen doors, and saw no Cett
beyond. This floor was clear.
Cett certainly brought a lot of hazekillers, she thought, backing quietly to
the center of the room. Save for the stairwell, kitchens, and pillars, the room
was mostly surrounded in arched stained-glass windows.
He planned for my attack. Or, he tried to.
Vin ducked down as the waves of men surrounded her. She turned her
head up, eyes closed, and burned duralumin.
Then she Pulled.
Stained-glass windows—set in metal frames inside their arches—
exploded around the room. She felt the metal frames burst inward, twisting
on themselves before her awesome power. She imagined twinkling slivers
of multicolored glass in the air. She heard men scream as glass and metal hit
them, embedding in their flesh.
Only the outer layer of men would die from the blast. Vin opened her
eyes and jumped as a dozen dueling canes fell around her. She passed
through a hail of attacks. Some hit. It didn't matter. She couldn't feel pain at
the moment.
She Pushed against a broken metal frame, throwing herself over the
heads of soldiers, landing outside the large circle of attackers. The outer line
of men was down, impaled by glass shards and twisted metal frames. Vin
raised a hand and bowed her head.
Duralumin and steel. She Pushed. The world lurched.
Vin shot out into the mists through a broken window as she Pushed
against the line of corpses impaled by metal frames. The bodies were
thrown away from her, smashing into the men who were still alive in the
center.
Dead, dying, and unharmed were swept from the room, Pushed out the
window opposite Vin. Bodies twisted in the mists, fifty men thrown into the
night, leaving the room empty save for trails of blood and discarded bits of
glass.
Vin downed a vial of metals as the mists rushed around her; then she
Pulled herself back toward the keep, using a window on the fourth floor. As
she approached, a corpse crashed through the window, falling out into the
night. She caught a glimpse of Zane disappearing out another window on
the opposite side. This level was clear.
Lights burned on the fifth floor. They probably could have come here
first, but that wasn't the plan. Zane was right. They didn't just need to kill
Cett. They needed to terrify his entire army.
Vin Pushed against the same corpse that Zane had thrown out the
window, using its metal armor as an anchor. It shot down at an angle,
passing just inside a broken window, and Vin soared upward in an angle
away from the building. A quick Pull directed her back to the building once
she reached the elevation she needed. She landed at a window on the fifth
floor.
Vin grasped the stone sill, heart thumping, breaths coming in deep gasps.
Sweat made her face cold in the winter breeze, despite the heat burning
within her. She gulped, eyes wide, and flared her pewter.
Mistborn.
She shattered the window with a slap. The soldiers that waited beyond
jumped backward, spinning. One wore a metal belt buckle. He died first.
The other twenty barely knew how to react as the buckle buzzed through
their ranks, twisting between Vin's Pushes and Pulls. They had been trained,
instructed, and perhaps even tested against Allomancers.
But they had never fought Vin.
Men screamed and fell, Vin ripping through their ranks with only the
buckle as a weapon. Before the force of her pewter, tin, steel, and iron, the
possible use of atium seemed an incredible waste. Even without it, she was
a terrible weapon—one that, until this moment, even she hadn't understood.
Mistborn.
The last man fell. Vin stood among them, feeling a numbing sense of
satisfaction. She let the belt buckle slip from her fingers. It hit carpet. She
stood in a room that wasn't unadorned as the rest of the building had been;1
there was furniture here, and there were some minor decorations. Perhaps
Elend's clearing crews hadn't gotten this far before Cett's arrival, or perhaps
he'd simply brought some of his own comforts.
Behind her was the stairwell. In front of her was a fine wooden wall set
with a door—the inner apartments. Vin stepped forward quietly, mistcloak
rustling as she Pulled four lamps off the brackets behind her. They whipped
forward, and she sidestepped, letting them crash into the wall. Fire
blossomed across splattered oil, billowing across the wall, the force of the
lamps breaking the door on its hinges. She raised a hand, Pushing it fully
open.
Fire dripped around her as she stepped into the room beyond. The richly
decorated chamber was quiet, and eerily empty save for two figures. Cett
sat in a simple wooden chair, bearded, sloppily dressed, and looking very,
very tired. Cett's young son stepped in between Cett and Vin. The boy held
a dueling cane.
So, which one is Mistborn?
The boy swung. Vin caught the weapon, then shoved the boy to the side.
He crashed into the wooden wall, then slumped to the ground. Vin eyed
him.
"Leave Gneorndin alone, woman," Cett said. "Do what you came to do."
Vin turned toward the nobleman. She remembered her frustration, her
rage, her cool, icy anger. She stepped forward and grabbed Cett by the front
of his suit. "Fight me," she said, and tossed him backward.
He slammed against the back wall, then slumped to the ground. Vin
prepared her atium, but he did not rise. He simply rolled to the side,
coughing.
Vin walked over, pulling him up by one arm. He balled a fist, trying to
strike her, but he was pathetically weak. She let the blows bounce off her
side.
"Fight me," she commanded, tossing him to the side. He tumbled across
the floor—head hitting hard—and came to rest against the burning wall, a
trickle of blood running from his brow. He didn't rise.
Vin gritted her teeth, striding forward.
"Leave him alone!" The boy, Gneorndin, stumbled in front of Cett,
raising his dueling cane in a wavering hand.
Vin paused, cocking her head. The boy's brow was streaked with sweat,
and he was unsteady on his feet. She looked into his eyes, and saw absolute
terror therein. This boy was no Mistborn. Yet, he held his ground.
Pathetically, hopelessly, he stood before the body of the fallen Cett.
"Step aside, son," Cett said in a tired voice. "There is nothing you can do
here."
The boy started to shake, then began to weep.
Tears, Vin thought, feeling an oddly surreal feeling cloud her mind. She
reached up, surprised to find wet streaks on her own cheeks.
"You have no Mistborn," she whispered.
Cett had struggled to a half-reclining position, and he looked into her
eyes.
"No Allomancers faced us this night," she said. "You used them all on the
assassination attempt in the Assembly Hall?"
"The only Allomancers I had, I sent against you months ago," Cett said
with a sigh. "They were all I ever had, my only hope of killing you. Even
they weren't from my family. My whole line has been corrupted by skaa
blood—Allrianne is the only Allomancer to be born to us for centuries."
"You came to Luthadel. . ."
"Because Straff would have come for me eventually," Cett said. "My best
chance, lass, was to kill you early on. That's why I sent them all against you.
Failing that, I knew I had to try and take this damn city and its atium so I
could buy myself some Allomancers. Didn't work."
"You could have just offered us an alliance."
Cett chuckled, pulling himself up to a sitting position. "It doesn't work
that way in real politics. You take, or you get taken. Besides, I've always
been a gambling man." He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. "Do what
you came to," he repeated.
Vin shivered. She couldn't feel her tears. She could barely feel anything.
Why? Why can't I make sense of anything anymore?
The room began to shake. Vin spun, looking toward the back wall. The
wood there quivered and spasmed like a dying animal. Nails began to pop,
ripping backward through the paneling; then the entire wall burst away
from Vin. Burning boards, splinters, nails, and shingles sprayed in the air,
flying around a man in black. Zane stood sideways in the room beyond,
death strewn at his feet, hands at his sides.
Red streamed from the tips of his fingers, running in a steady drip. He
looked up through the burning remnants of the wall, smiling. Then he
stepped toward Cett's room.
"No!" Vin said, dashing at him.
Zane paused, surprised. He stepped to the side, easily dodging Vin,
walking toward Cett and the boy.
"Zane, leave them!" Vin said, turning toward him, Pushing herself in a
skid across the room. She reached for his arm. The black fabric glistened
wet with blood that was only his own.
Zane dodged. He turned toward her, curious. She reached for him, but he
moved out of the way with supernatural ease, outstepping her like a master
swordsman facing a young boy.
Atium, Vin thought. He probably burned it this entire time. But, he didn't
need it to fight those men. . .they didn't have a chanee against us anyway.
"Please," she asked. "Leave them."
Zane turned toward Cett, who sat expectant. The boy was at his side,
trying to pull his father away.
Zane looked back at her, head cocked.
"Please," Vin repeated.
Zane frowned. "He still controls you, then," he said, sounding
disappointed. "I thought, maybe, if you could fight and see just how
powerful you were, you'd shake yourself free of Elend's grip. I guess I was
wrong."
Then he turned his back on Cett and walked out through the hole he had
made. Vin followed quietly, feet crunching splinters of wood as she slowly
withdrew, leaving a broken keep, shattered army, and humiliated lord
behind.
But must not even a madman rely on his own mind, his own experience,
rather than that of others?
44
IN THE COLD CALM OF morning, Breeze watched a very
disheartening sight: Cett's army withdrawing.
Breeze shivered, breath puffing as he turned toward Clubs. Most people
wouldn't have been able to read beyond the sneer on the squat general's
face. But Breeze saw more: he saw the tension in the taut skin around
Clubs's eyes, he noticed the way that Clubs tapped his finger against the
frosty stone wall. Clubs was not a nervous man. The motions meant
something.
"This is it, then?" Breeze asked quietly.
Clubs nodded.
Breeze couldn't see it. There were still two armies out there; it was still a
standoff. Yet, he trusted Clubs's assessment. Or, rather, he trusted his own
knowledge of people enough to trust his assessment of Clubs.
The general knew something he didn't.
"Kindly explain," Breeze said.
"This'll end when Straff figures it out," Clubs said.
"Figures what out?"
"That those koloss will do his job for him, if he lets them."
Breeze paused. Straff doesn't really care about the people in the city—he
just wants to take it for the atium. And for the symbolic victory.
"If Straff pulls back. . ." Breeze said.
"Those koloss will attack," Clubs said with a nod. "They'll slaughter
everyone they find and generally make rubble out of the city. Then Straff
can come back and find his atium once the koloss are done."
"Assuming they leave, my dear man."
Clubs shrugged. "Either way, he's better off. Straff will face one
weakened enemy instead of two strong ones."
Breeze felt a chill, and pulled his cloak closer. "You say that all so. .
.straightforwardly."
"We were dead the moment that first army got here, Breeze," Clubs said.
"We're just good at stalling."
Why in the name of the Lord Ruler do I spend my time with this man?
Breeze thought. He's nothing more than a pessimistic doomsayer. And yet,
Breeze knew people. This time, Clubs wasn't exaggerating.
"Bloody hell," Breeze muttered.
Clubs just nodded, leaning against the wall and looking out at the
disappearing army.
"Three hundred men," Ham said, standing in Elend's study. "Or, at least,
that's what our scouts say."
"That's not as bad as I'd feared," Elend said. They stood in Elend's study,
the only other occupant being Spook, who sat lounging beside the table.
"El," Ham said, "Cett only had a thousand men with him here in
Luthadel. That means that during Vin's attack, Cett took thirty percent
casualties in less than ten minutes. Even on a battlefield, most armies will
break if they take thirty or forty percent casualties in the course of an entire
day's fighting."
"Oh," Elend said, frowning.
Ham shook his head, sitting down, pouring himself something to drink. "I
don't get it, El. Why'd she attack him?"
"She's loony," Spook said.
Elend opened his mouth to counter that comment, but found it difficult to
explain his feelings. "I'm not sure why she did it," he finally admitted. "She
did mention that she didn't believe those assassins at the Assembly came
from my father."
Ham shrugged. He looked. . .haggard. This wasn't his element, dealing
with armies and worrying about the fate of kingdoms. He preferred to
conce1rn himself with smaller spheres.
Of course, Elend thought, I'd just prefer to be in my chair, reading
quietly. We do what we must.
"Any news of her yet?" Elend asked.
Spook shook his head. "Uncle Grumpy has the scouts searching the city,
but so far nothing."
"If Vin doesn't want to be found. . ." Ham said.
Elend began to pace. He couldn't keep still; he was beginning to think he
must look like Jastes, wandering in circles, running his hand through his
hair.
Be firm, he told himself. You can afford to seem worried, but you mustn't
ever seem uncertain.
He continued to pace, though he slowed his step, and he didn't voice his
concerns to Ham or Spook. What if Vin was wounded? What if Cett had
killed her? Their scouts had seen very little of the attack the night before.
Vin had definitely been involved, and there were conflicting reports that
said she'd been fighting another Mistborn. She had left the keep with one of
the top floors in flames—and, for some reason, she had left Cett alive.
Since then, nobody had seen her.
Elend closed his eyes, pausing as he leaned a hand against the stone wall.
I've been ignoring her lately. I've helped the city. . .but what good will it do
to save Luthadel if I lose her? It's almost like I don't know her anymore.
Or did I ever know her in the first place?
It felt wrong to not have her with him. He had come to rely on her simple
bluntness. He needed her genuine realism—her sheer sense of concreteness
—to keep him grounded. He needed to hold her, so that he could know that
there was something more important than theories and concepts.
He loved her.
"I don't know, El," Ham finally said. "I never thought that Vin would be a
liability, but she had a hard youth. I remember once she exploded at the
crew for little reason, yelling and screaming about her childhood. I. . .don't
know that she's completely stable."
Elend opened his eyes. "She's stable, Ham," he said firmly. "And she's
more capable than any of us."
Ham frowned. "But—"
"She had a good reason for attacking Cett," Elend said. "I trust her."
Ham and Spook exchanged glances, and Spook just shrugged.
"It's more than last night, El," Ham said. "Something's not right with that
girl—not just mentally, either. . .."
"What do you mean?" Elend asked.
"Remember the attack on the Assembly?" Ham said. "You told me you
saw her get hit square-on by a Thug's staff."
"And?" Elend asked. "It laid her out for three full days."
Ham shook his head. "Her complete collection of wounds—getting hit in
the side, the shoulder wound, nearly being choked to death—those all
together laid her out for a couple of days. But, if she'd really gotten hit that
hard by a Thug, she shouldn't have been out for days, Elend. She should
have been out for weeks. Maybe longer. She certainly shouldn't have
escaped without broken ribs."
"She was burning pewter," Elend said.
"Presumably, so was the Thug."
Elend paused.
"You see?" Ham said. "If both were flaring pewter, then they should have
balanced each other out. That leaves Vin—a girl who can't weigh more than
a hundred pounds—getting clobbered full-on by a trained soldier with three
times her weight. She shrugged it off with barely a few days' rest."
"Vin's special," Elend finally said.
"I won't argue with that," Ham said. "But she's also hiding things from
us. Who was that other Mistborn? Some of the reports make it sound like
they were working together."
She said there was another Mistborn in the city, Elend thought. Zane—
Straff's messenger. She hasn't mentioned him in a very long while.
Ham rubbed his forehead. "This is all falling apart around us, El."
"Kelsier could have kept it together," Spook mumbled. "When he was
here, even our failures were part of his plan."
"The Survivor is dead," Elend said. "I never knew him, but I've listened
to enough about him to learn one thing. He didn't give in to despair."
Ham smiled. "That much is true. He was laughing and joking the day
after we lost our entire army to a miscalculation. Arrogant bastard."
"Callous," Spook said.
"No," Ham said, reaching for his cup. "I used to think that. Now. . .I just
think he was determined. Kell always looked toward tomorrow, no matter
what the consequences."
"Well, we have to do the same," Elend said. "Cett is gone—Penrod let
him leave. We can't change that fact. But, we do have information on the
koloss army."
"Oh, about that," Spook said, reaching into his pouch. He tossed
something to the table. "You're right—they're the same."
The coin rolled to a stop, and Elend picked it up. He could see where
Spook had scraped it with a knife, peeling off the gold paint to reveal the
dense hardwood beneath. It was a poor representation of a boxing; it was
little wonder that the fakes had been so easy to pick out. Only a fool would
try to pass them off as real. A fool, or a koloss.
Nobody was certain how some of Jastes's fake boxings had worked their
way up to Luthadel; perhaps he had tried giving them to peasants or beggars
in his home dominance. Either way, it was fairly apparent what he was
doing. He'd needed an army, and had needed cash. He'd fabricated the one
to get the other. Only koloss would have fallen for such a ploy.
"I don't get it," Ham said as Elend passed him the coin. "How come the
koloss have suddenly decided to take money? The Lord Ruler never paid
them."
Elend paused, thinking back to his experience with the camp. We are
humans. We will live in your city. . ..
"The koloss are changing, Ham," Elend said. "Or maybe we never really
understood them in the first place. Either way, we need to be strong. This
isn't over yet."
"It would be easier to be strong if I knew our Mistborn wasn't insane. She
didn't even discuss this with us!"
"I know," Elend said.
Ham rose, shaking his head. "There's a reason the Great Houses were
always so reluctant to use their Mistborn against each other. Things just got
a whole lot more dangerous. If Cett does have a Mistborn, and he decides to
retaliate. . ."
"I know," Elend said again, bidding the two farewell.
Ham waved to Spook, and the two of them left, off to check with Breeze
and Clubs.
They all act so glum, Elend thought, leaving his rooms to find something
to eat. It's like they think we're doomed because of one setback. But, Cett's
withdrawal is a good thing. One of our enemies is leaving—and there are
still two armies out there. Jastes won't attack if doing so exposes him to
Straff, and Straff himself is too scared of Vin to do anything. In fact, her
attack on Cett will only make my father more frightened. Maybe that's why
she did it.
"Your Majesty?" a voice whispered.
Elend spun, searching the hallway.
"Your Majesty," said a short figure in the shadows. OreSeur. "I think I've
found her."
Elend didn't bring anyone with him save for a few guards. He didn't want
to explain to Ham and the others how he'd gotten his information; Vin still
insisted on keeping OreSeur secret.
Ham's right about one thing, Elend thought as his carriage pulled to a
stop. She is hiding things. She does it all the time.
But that didn't stop him from trusting her. He nodded to OreSeur, and
they left the carriage. Elend waved his guards back as he approached a
dilapidated building. It had probably once been a poor merchant's shop—a
place run by extremely low nobility, selling meager necessities to skaa
workers in exchange for food tokens, which could in turn be exchanged for
money from the Lord Ruler.
The building was in a sector that Elend's fuel-collection crews hadn't
reached yet. It was obvious, however, that it hadn't seen a lot of use lately. It
had been ransacked long ago, and the ash coating the floor was a good four
inches deep. A small trail of footprints led toward a back stairwell.
"What is this place?" Elend asked with a frown.
OreSeur shrugged a pair of dog's shoulders.
"Then how did you know she was here?"
"I followed her last night, Your Majesty," OreSeur said. "I saw the
general direction she went. After that, it was simply a process of careful
searching."
Elend frowned. "That still must have taken some pretty mean tracking
abilities, kandra."
"These bones have unusually keen senses."
Elend nodded. The stairwell led up into a long hallway with several
rooms at the ends. Elend began to walk down the hallway, then paused. To
one side, a panel on the wall had been slid back, revealing a small cubby.
He could hear movement within.
"Vin?" he asked, poking his head into the cubby.
There was a small room hidden behind the wall, and Vin sat on the far
side. The room—more of a nook—was only a few feet across, and even Vin
wouldn't have been able to stand up in it. She didn't respond to him. She
simply sat, leaning against the far wall, head turned away from him.
Elend crawled inside the small chamber, getting ash on his knees. It was
barely large enough for him to enter without bumping into her. "Vin? Are
you all right?"
She sat, twisting something between her fingers. And she was looking at
the wall—looking through a narrow hole. Elend could see sunlight shining
through.
It's a peephole, he realized. To watch the street below. This isn't a shop—
it's a thieving hideout. Or, it was.
"I used to think Camon was a terrible man," Vin said quietly.
Elend paused, on hands and knees. Finally, he settled back into a
cramped seated position. At least Vin didn't look hurt. "Camon?" he asked.
"Your old crewleader, before Kelsier?"
Vin nodded. She turned away from the slit, sitting with her arms around
her knees. "He beat people, he killed those who disagreed with him. Even
among street thugs, he was brutal."
Elend frowned.
"But," Vin said quietly, "I doubt he killed as many people during his
entire life as I killed last night."
Elend closed his eyes. Then he opened them and shuffled a little closer,
laying a hand on Vin's shoulder. "Those were enemy soldiers, Vin."
"I was like a child in a room full of bugs," Vin whispered. He could
finally see what was in her fingers. It was her earring, the simple bronze
stud that she always wore. She looked down at it, twisting it between her
fingers.
"Did I ever tell you how I got this?" she asked. He shook his head. "My
mother gave it to me," she said. "I don't remember it happening—Reen told
me about it. My mother. . .she heard voices sometimes. She killed my baby
sister, slaughtered her. And that same day she gave me this, one of her own
earrings. As if. . .as if choosing me over my sister. A punishment for one, a
twisted present for another."
Vin shook her head. "My entire life has been death, Elend. Death of my
sister, the death of Reen. Crewmembers dead around me, Kelsier falling to
the Lord Ruler, then my own spear in the Lord Ruler's chest. I try to protect,
and tell myself that I'm escaping it all. And then. . .I do something like I did
last night."
Not certain what else to do, Elend pulled her close. She was stiff,
however. "You had a good reason for what you did," he said.
"No I didn't," Vin said. "I just wanted to hurt them. I wanted to scare
them and make them leave you alone. It sounds childish, but that's how I
felt."
"It's not childish, Vin," Elend said. "It was good strategy. You gave our
enemies a show of force. You frightened away one of our major opponents,
and now my father will be even more afraid to attack. You've bought us
more time!"
"Bought it with the lives of hundreds of men."
"Enemy soldiers who marched into our city," Elend said. "Men who were
protecting a tyrant who oppresses his people."
"That's the same rationale Kelsier used," Vin said quietly, "when he killed
noblemen and their guards. He said they were upholding the Final Empire,
so they deserved to die. He frightened me."
Elend didn't know what to say to that.
"It was like he thought himself a god," Vin whispered. "Taking life,
giving life, where he saw fit. I don't want to be like him, Elend. But,
everything seems to be pushing me in that direction."
"I. . ." You're not like him, he wanted to say. It was true, but the words
wouldn't come out. They rang hollow to him.
Instead, he pulled Vin close, her shoulder up against his chest, head
beneath his chin. "I wish I knew the right things to say, Vin," he whispered.
"Seeing you like this makes every protective 1instinct inside of me twist. I
want to make it better—I want to fix everything—but I don't know how.
Tell me what to do. Just tell me how I can help!"
She resisted his embrace a little at first, but then sighed quietly and slid
her arms around him, holding him tightly. "You can't help with this," she
said softly. "I have to do it alone. There are. . .decisions I have to make."
He nodded. "You'll make the right ones, Vin."
"You don't even know what I'm deciding."
"It doesn't matter," he said. "I know I can't help—I couldn't even hold on
to my own throne. You're ten times as capable as I am."
She squeezed his arm. "Don't say things like that. Please?"
He frowned at the tension in her voice, then nodded. "All right. But,
either way, I trust you, Vin. Make your decisions—I'll support you."
She nodded, relaxing a bit beneath his arms. "I think. . ." she said. "I
think I have to leave Luthadel."
"Leave? And go where?"
"North," she said. "To Terris."
Elend sat back, resting against the wooden wall. Leave? he thought with
a twisting feeling. Is this what I've earned by being so distracted lately?
Have I lost her?
And yet, he'd just told her that he'd support her decisions. "If you feel
you have to go, Vin," he found himself saying, "then you should do so."
"If I were to leave, would you go with me?"
"Now?"
Vin nodded, head rubbing his chest.
"No," he finally said. "I couldn't leave Luthadel, not with those armies
still out there."
"But the city rejected you."
"I know," he said, sighing. "But. . .I can't leave them, Vin. They rejected
me, but I won't abandon them."
Vin nodded again, and something told him this was the answer she had
expected.
Elend smiled. "We're a mess, aren't we?"
"Hopeless," she said softly, sighing as she finally pulled away from him.
She seemed so tired. Outside the room, Elend could hear footsteps. OreSeur
appeared a moment later, poking his head into the hidden chamber.
"Your guards are growing restless, Your Majesty," he said to Elend.
"They will soon come looking for you."
Elend nodded, shuffling over to the exit. Once in the hallway, he offered
a hand to help Vin out. She took the hand, crawling out, then stood and
dusted off her clothing—her typical shirt and trousers.
Will she ever go back to dresses now? he wondered.
"Elend," she said, fishing in a pocket. "Here, you can spend this, if you
want."
She opened up her hand, dropping a bead into his hand.
"Atium?" he asked incredulously. "Where did you get it?"
"From a friend," she said.
"And you didn't burn it last night?" Elend asked. "When you were
fighting all those soldiers?"
"No," Vin said. "I swallowed it, but I didn't end up ne1eding it, so I
forced it back up."
Lord Ruler! Elend thought. I didn't even consider that she didn't have
atium. What could she have done if she'd burned that bit? He looked up at
her. "Some reports say that there's another Mistborn in the city."
"There is. Zane."
Elend dropped the bead back into her hand. "Then keep this. You might
need it to fight him."
"I doubt that," Vin said quietly.
"Keep it anyway," Elend said. "This is worth a small fortune—but we'd
need a very large fortune to make any difference now. Besides, who would
buy it? If I used it to bribe Straff or Cett, they'd only become more certain
I'm holding atium against them."
Vin nodded, then glanced at OreSeur. "Keep this," she said, handing the
bead toward him. "It's big enough that another Allomancer could pull it off
me if he wanted."
"I will guard it with my life, Mistress," OreSeur said, his shoulder
splitting open to make room for the bit of metal.
Vin turned to join Elend as they walked down the steps, moving to meet
with the guards below.
I know what I have memorized. I know what is now repeated by the other
Worldbringers.
45
"THE HERO OF AGES WON'T be Terris," Tindwyl said, scribbling a
note at the bottom of their list.
"We knew that already," Sazed said. "From the logbook."
"Yes," Tindwyl said, "but Alendi's account was only a reference—a
thirdhand mention of the effects of a prophecy. I found someone quoting the
prophecy itself."
"Truly?" Sazed asked, excited. "Where?"
"The biography of Helenntion," Tindwyl said. "One of the last survivors
of the Council of Khlennium."
"Write it for me," Sazed said, scooting his chair a bit closer to hers. He
had to blink a few times as she wrote, his head clouding for a moment from
fatigue.
Stay alert! he told himself. There isn't much time left. Not much at all. . ..
Tindwyl was doing a little better than he, but her wakefulness was
obviously beginning to run out, for she was starting to droop. He'd taken a
quick nap during the night, rolled up on her floor, but she had carried on. As
far as he could tell, she'd been awake for over a week straight.
There was much talk of the Rabzeen, during those days, Tindwyl wrote.
Some said he would come to fight the Conqueror. Others said he was the
Conqueror. Helenntion didn't make his thoughts on the matter known to me.
The Rabzeen is said to be "He who is not of his people, yet fulfills all of
their wishes." If this is the case, then perhaps the Conqueror is the one. He
is said to have been of Khlennium.
She stopped there. Sazed frowned, reading the words again. Kwaan's last
testimony—the rubbing Sazed had taken at the Conventical of Seran—had
proven useful in more than one way. It had provided a key.
It wasn't until years later that I became convinced that he was the Hero
of Ages, Kwaan had written. Hero of Ages: the one called Rabzeen in
Khlennium, the Anamnesor. . ..
The rubbing was a means of translat1ion—not between languages, but
between synonyms. It made sense that there would be other names for the
Hero of Ages; a figure so important, so surrounded by lore, would have
many titles. Yet, so much had been lost from those days. The Rabzeen and
the Anamnesor were both mythological figures vaguely familiar to Sazed—
but they were only two among hosts. Until the discovery of the rubbing,
there had been no way to connect their names to the Hero of Ages.
Now Tindwyl and he could search their metalminds with open eyes.
Perhaps, in the past, Sazed had read this very passage from Helenntion's
biography; he had at least skimmed many of the older records, searching for
religious references. Yet, he would never have been able to realize that the
passage was referring to the Hero of Ages, a figure from Terris lore that the
Khlenni people had renamed into their own tongue.
"Yes. . ." he said slowly. "This is good, Tindwyl. Very good." He reached
over, laying his hand on hers.
"Perhaps," she said, "though it tells us nothing new."
"Ah, but the wording might be important, I think," Sazed said. "Religions
are often very careful with their writings."
"Especially prophecies," Tindwyl said, frowning just a bit. She was not
fond of anything that smacked of superstition or soothsaying.
"I would have thought," Sazed noted, "that you would no longer have this
prejudice, considering our current enterprise."
"I gather information, Sazed," she said. "Because of what it says of
people, and because of what the past can teach us. However, there is a
reason I took to studying history as opposed to theology. I don't approve of
perpetuating lies."
"Is that what you think I do when I teach of religions?" he asked in
amusement.
Tindwyl looked toward him. "A bit," she admitted. "How can you teach
the people to look toward the gods of the dead, Sazed? Those religions did
their people little good, and their prophecies are now dust."
"Religions are an expression of hope," Sazed said. "That hope gives
people strength."
"Then you don't believe?" Tindwyl asked. "You just give the people
something to trust, something to delude themselves?"
"I would not call it so."
"Then you think the gods you teach of do exist?"
"I. . .think that they deserved to be remembered."
"And their prophecies?" Tindwyl said. "I see scholarly value in what we
do—the bringing to light of facts from the past could give us information
about our current problems. Yet, this soothsaying for the future is, at its
core, foolishness."
"I would not say that," Sazed said. "Religions are promises—promises
that there is something watching over us, guiding us. Prophecies, therefore,
are natural extensions of the hopes and desires of the people. Not
foolishness at all."
"So, your interest is purely academic?" Tindwyl said.
"I wouldn't say that."
Tindwyl studied him, watching his eyes. She frowned slowly. "You
believe it, don't you?" she asked. "You believe that this girl is the Hero of
Ages."
"I have not yet decided," Sazed said.
"How can you even consider such a thing, Sazed?" Tindwyl asked.
"Don't you see? Hope is a1 good thing—a wonderful thing—but you must
have hope in something appropriate. If you perpetuate the dreams of the
past, then you stifle your own dreams of the future."
"What if the past dreams are worthy of being remembered?"
Tindwyl shook her head. "Look at the odds, Sazed. What are the chances
we would end up where we are, studying this rubbing, in the very same
household as the Hero of Ages?"
"Odds are irrelevant when a foretelling is involved."
Tindwyl closed her eyes. "Sazed. . .I think religion is a good thing, and
belief is a good thing, but it is foolishness to look for guidance in a few
vague phrases. Look at what happened last time someone assumed they had
found this Hero. The Lord Ruler, the Final Empire, was the result."
"Still, I will hope. If you did not believe the prophecies, then why work
so hard to discover information about the Deepness and the Hero?"
"It's simple," Tindwyl said. "We are obviously facing a danger that has
come before—a recurring problem, like a plague that plays itself out, only
to return again centuries later. The ancient people knew of this danger, and
had information about it. That information, naturally, broke down and
became legends, prophecies, and even religions. There will be, then, clues
to our situation hidden in the past. This is not a matter of soothsaying, but
of research."
Sazed lay his hand on hers. "I think, perhaps, that this is something we
cannot agree upon. Come, let us return to our studies. We must use the time
we have left."
"We should be all right," Tindwyl said, sighing and reaching to tuck a bit
of hair back into her bun. "Apparently, your Hero scared off Lord Cett last
night. The maid who brought breakfast was speaking of it."
"I know of the event," Sazed said.
"Then things are growing better for Luthadel."
"Yes," Sazed said. "Perhaps."
She frowned. "You seem hesitant."
"I do not know," he said, glancing down. "I do not feel that Cett's
departure is a good thing, Tindwyl. Something is very wrong. We need to
be finished with these studies."
Tindwyl cocked her head. "How soon?"
"We should try to be done tonight, I think," Sazed said, glancing toward
the pile of unbound sheets they had stacked on the table. That stack
contained all the notes, ideas, and connections that they'd made during their
furious bout of study. It was a book, of sorts—a guidebook that told of the
Hero of Ages and the Deepness. It was a good document—incredible, even,
considering the time they'd been given. It was not comprehensive. It was,
however, probably the most important thing he'd ever written.
Even if he wasn't certain why.
"Sazed?" Tindwyl asked, frowning. "What is this?" She reached to the
stack of papers, pulling out a sheet that was slightly askew. As she held it
up, Sazed was shocked to see that a chunk from the bottom right corner had
been torn off.
"Did you do this?" she asked.
"No," Sazed said. He accepted the paper. It was one of the transcriptions
of the rubbing; the tear had removed the last sentence or so. There was no
sign of the missing piece.
Sazed looked up, meeting Tindwyl's confused gaze. She turned, shuffling
through a stack of pap1ers to the side. She pulled out another copy of the
transcription and held it up.
Sazed felt a chill. The corner was missing.
"I referenced this yesterday," Tindwyl said quietly. "I haven't left the
room save for a few minutes since then, and you were always here."
"Did you leave last night?" Sazed asked. "To visit the privy while I
slept?"
"Perhaps. I don't remember."
Sazed sat for a moment, staring at the page. The tear was eerily similar in
shape to the one from their main stack. Tindwyl, apparently thinking the
same thing, laid it over its companion. It matched perfectly; even the
smallest ridges in the tears were identical. Even if they'd been torn lying
right on top of one another, the duplication wouldn't have been so perfect.
Both of them sat, staring. Then they burst into motion, riffling through
their stacks of pages. Sazed had four copies of the transcription. All were
missing the same exact chunk.
"Sazed. . ." Tindwyl said, her voice shaking just a bit. She held up a sheet
of paper—one that had only half of the transcription on it, ending near the
middle of the page. A hole had been torn directly in the middle of the page,
removing the exact same sentence.
"The rubbing!" Tindwyl said, but Sazed was already moving. He left his
chair, rushing to the trunk where he stored his metalminds. He fumbled with
the key at his neck, pulling it off and unlocking the trunk. He threw it open,
removed the rubbing, then unfolded it delicately on the ground. He
withdrew his fingers suddenly, feeling almost as if he'd been bitten, as he
saw the tear at the bottom. The same sentence, removed.
"How is this possible?" Tindwyl whispered. "How could someone know
so much of our work—so much of us?"
"And yet," Sazed said, "how could they know so little of our abilities? I
have the entire transcription stored in my metalmind. I can remember it
right now."
"What does the missing sentence say?"
"'Alendi must not reach the Well of Ascension; he must not be allowed to
take the power for himself.'"
"Why remove this sentence?" Tindwyl asked.
Sazed stared at the rubbing. This seems impossible. . ..
A noise sounded at the window. Sazed spun, reaching reflexively into his
pewtermind and increasing his strength. His muscles swelled, his robe
growing tight.
The shutters swung open. Vin crouched on the sill. She paused as she saw
Sazed and Tindwyl—who had also apparently tapped strength, growing to
have almost masculine bulk.
"Did I do something wrong?" Vin asked.
Sazed smiled, releasing his pewtermind. "No, child," he said. "You
simply startled us." He met Tindwyl's eye, and she began to gather up the
ripped pieces of paper. Sazed folded up the rubbing; they would discuss it
further later.
"Have you seen anyone spending too much time around my room, Lady
Vin?" Sazed asked as he replaced the rubbing. "Any strangers—or even any
particular guards?"
"No," Vin said, climbing into the room. She walked barefoot, as usual,
and she didn't wear her mistcloak; she rarely did in the daytime. If she had
fought the night before, she had changed clothing, for there were no stains
of blood—or even sweat—on this outfit. "D1o you want me to watch for
anyone suspicious?" she asked.
"Yes, please," Sazed said, locking the chest. "We fear that someone has
been riffling through our work, though why they would wish to do so is
confusing."
Vin nodded, remaining where she was as Sazed returned to his seat. She
regarded him and Tindwyl for a moment.
"I need to talk to you, Sazed," Vin said.
"I can spare a few moments, I think," Sazed said. "But, I must warn you
that my studies are very pressing."
Vin nodded, then glanced at Tindwyl. Finally, she sighed, rising. "I guess
I will go and see about lunch, then."
Vin relaxed slightly as the door closed; then she moved over to the table,
sitting down in Tindwyl's chair, pulling her legs up before her on the
wooden seat.
"Sazed," she asked, "how do you know if you're in love?"
Sazed blinked. "I. . .I do not think I am one to speak on this topic, Lady
Vin. I know very little about it."
"You always say things like that," Vin said. "But really, you're an expert
on just about everything."
Sazed chuckled. "In this case, I assure you that my insecurity is heartfelt,
Lady Vin."
"Still, you've got to know something."
"A bit, perhaps," Sazed said. "Tell me, how do you feel when you are
with young Lord Venture?"
"I want him to hold me," Vin said quietly, turning to the side, looking out
the window. "I want him to talk to me, even if I don't understand what he's
saying. Anything to keep him there, with me. I want to be better because of
him."
"That seems like a very good sign, Lady Vin."
"But. . ." Vin glanced down. "I'm not good for him, Sazed. He's scared of
me."
"Scared?"
"Well, he's at least uncomfortable with me. I saw the look in his eyes
when he saw me fighting on the day of the Assembly attack. He stumbled
away from me, Sazed, horrified."
"He'd just seen a man slain," Sazed said. "Lord Venture is somewhat
innocent in these matters, Lady Vin. It wasn't you, I think—it was simply a
natural reaction to the horror of death."
"Either way," Vin said, glancing back out the window. "I don't want him
to see me that way. I want to be the girl he needs—the girl who can support
his political plans. The girl who can be pretty when he needs her on his arm,
and who can comfort him when he's frustrated. Except, that's not me. You're
the one who trained me to act like a courtly woman, Saze, but we both
know that I wasn't all that good at it."
"And Lord Venture fell in love with you," Sazed said, "because you
didn't act like the other women. Despite Lord Kelsier's interference, despite
your knowledge that all noblemen were our enemies, Elend fell in love with
you."
"I shouldn't have let him," Vin said quietly. "I need to stay away from
him, Saze—for his own good. That way, he can fall in love with someone
else. Someone who is a better match for him. Someone who doesn't go kill
a hundred people when she gets frustrated. Someone who deserves his
love."
Sazed rose, robes swishing as he stepped to Vin's chair. He stooped
down, placing his head even with hers, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Oh,
chi1ld. When will you stop worrying and simply let yourself be loved?"
Vin shook her head. "It's not that easy."
"Few things are. Yet, I tell you this, Lady Vin. Love must be allowed to
flow both ways—if it is not, then it is not truly love, I think. It is something
else. Infatuation, perhaps? Either way, there are some of us who are far too
quick to make martyrs of ourselves. We stand at the side, watching,
thinking that we do the right thing by inaction. We fear pain—our own, or
that of another."
He squeezed her shoulder. "But. . .is that love? Is it love to assume for
Elend that he has no place with you? Or, is it love to let him make his own
decision in the matter?"
"And if I'm wrong for him?" Vin asked.
"You must love him enough to trust his wishes, even if you disagree with
them. You must respect him—no matter how wrong you think he may be,
no matter how poor you think his decisions, you must respect his desire to
make them. Even if one of them includes loving you."
Vin smiled slightly, but she still seemed troubled. "And. . ." she said very
slowly, "if there is someone else? For me?"
Ah. . ..
She tensed immediately. "You mustn't tell Elend I said that."
"I won't," Sazed promised. "Who is this other man?"
Vin shrugged. "Just. . .someone more like myself. The kind of man I
should be with."
"Do you love him?"
"He's strong," Vin said. "He makes me think of Kelsier."
So there is another Mistborn, Sazed thought. In this matter, he knew he
should remain unbiased. He didn't know enough about this second man to
make a judgment—and Keepers were supposed to give information, but
avoid specific advice.
Sazed, however, had never been very good at following that rule. He
didn't know this other Mistborn, true, but he did know Elend Venture.
"Child," he said, "Elend is the best of men, and you have been so much
happier since you've been with him."
"But, he's really the first man I loved," Vin said quietly. "How do I know
it's right? Shouldn't I pay more attention to the man who is a better match
for me?"
"I don't know, Lady Vin. I honestly don't know. I warned you of my
ignorance in this area. But, can you really hope to find a better person than
Lord Elend?"
She sighed. "It's all so frustrating. I should be worrying about the city and
the Deepness, not which man to spend my evenings with!"
"It is hard to defend others when our own lives are in turmoil," Sazed
said.
"I just have to decide," Vin said, standing, walking over toward the
window. "Thank you, Sazed. Thank you for listening. . .thank you for
coming back to the city."
Sazed nodded, smiling. Vin shot backward out the open window, shoving
herself against some bit of metal. Sazed sighed, rubbing his eyes as he
walked over to the room's door and pulled it open.
Tindwyl stood outside, arms crossed. "I think I would feel more
comfortable in this city," she said, "if I didn't know that our Mistborn had
the volatile emotions of a teenage girl."
"Lady Vin is more stable than you think," Sazed said.
"Sazed, I've raised some fifteen daughters," Tindwyl said, entering the
room. "No teenage girl is stable. Some are just better at hiding it than
others."
"Then, be glad she didn't hear you eavesdropping," Sazed said. "She is
usually rather paranoid about such things."
"Vin has a weak spot regarding Terris people," Tindwyl said with a wave
of her hand. "We can likely thank you for that. She seems to give great
value to your advice."
"Such as it is."
"I thought what you said was very wise, Sazed," Tindwyl said, sitting.
"You would have made an excellent father."
Sazed bowed his head in embarrassment, then moved over to sit down.
"We should—"
A knock came at the door.
"Now what?" Tindwyl asked.
"Did you not order us lunch?"
Tindwyl shook her head. "I never even left the hallway."
A second later, Elend poked his head into the room. "Sazed? Could I talk
to you for a bit?"
"Of course, Lord Elend," Sazed said, rising.
"Great," Elend said, striding into the room. "Tindwyl, you are excused."
She rolled her eyes, shooting an exasperated glance at Sazed, but stood
and walked from the room.
"Thank you," Elend said as she shut the door. "Please, sit," he said,
waving to Sazed.
Sazed did so, and Elend took a deep breath, standing with hands clasped
behind his back. He had gone back to his white uniforms, and stood with a
commanding posture despite his obvious frustration.
Someone stole my friend the scholar away, Sazed thought, and left a king
in his place. "I assume this is about Lady Vin, Lord Elend?"
"Yes," Elend said, beginning to pace, gesturing with one hand as he
spoke. "She doesn't make any sense, Sazed. I expect that—hell, I count on
it. She's not just female, she's Vin. But, I'm left unsure how to react. One
minute she seems warm to me—like we were before this mess hit the city—
and the next minute she's distant and stiff."
"Perhaps she's just confused herself."
"Perhaps," Elend agreed. "But shouldn't at least one of us know what is
going on in our relationship? Honestly, Saze, sometimes I just think we're
too different to be together."
Sazed smiled. "Oh, I don't know about that, Lord Elend. You may be
surprised at how similarly the two of you think."
"I doubt that," Elend said, continuing to pace. "She's Mistborn; I'm just a
regular man. She grew up on the streets; I grew up in a mansion. She is wily
and clever; I'm book-learned."
"She is extremely competent, and so are you," Sazed said. "She was
oppressed by her brother, you by your father. Both of you hated the Final
Empire, and fought it. And both of you think far too much about what
should be, rather than what is."
Elend paused, looking at Sazed. "What does that mean?"
"It means that I think you two are right for each other," Sazed said. "I am
not supposed to make such judgments, and truly, this is just the opinion of a
man who hasn't seen much of you two in the last few months. But, I believe
it to be tr1ue."
"And our differences?" Elend asked.
"At first glance, the key and the lock it fits may seem very different,"
Sazed said. "Different in shape, different in function, different in design.
The man who looks at them without knowledge of their true nature might
think them opposites, for one is meant to open, and the other to keep closed.
Yet, upon closer examination, he might see that without one, the other
becomes useless. The wise man then sees that both lock and key were
created for the same purpose."
Elend smiled. "You need to write a book sometime, Sazed. That's as
profound as anything I've read."
Sazed flushed, but glanced at the stack of papers on the desktop. Would
they be his legacy? He wasn't certain if they were profound, but they did
represent the most cohesive attempt that he'd ever made at writing
something original. True, most of the sheets contained quotes or references,
but a great deal of the text also included his thoughts and annotations.
"So," Elend said, "what should I do?"
"About Lady Vin?" Sazed asked. "I would suggest simply giving her—
and yourself—a little more time."
"Time is at a premium these days, Saze."
"When is it not?"
"When your city isn't besieged by two armies," Elend said, "one of them
led by a megalomaniac tyrant, the other by a reckless fool."
"Yes," Sazed said slowly. "Yes, I think you may be right. I should return
to my studies."
Elend frowned. "What are you working on, anyway?"
"Something that has little relevance to your current problem, I fear,"
Sazed said. "Tindwyl and I are collecting and compiling references about
the Deepness and the Hero of Ages."
"The Deepness. . .Vin mentioned it, too. You really think it might
return?"
"I think it has returned, Lord Elend," Sazed said. "It never left, really. I
believe the Deepness was—is—the mists."
"But, why. . ." Elend said, then held up a hand. "I'll read your conclusions
when you have finished. I can't afford to get sidetracked right now. Thank
you, Sazed, for your advice."
Yes, a king indeed, Sazed thought.
"Tindwyl," Elend said, "you may come back in now. Sazed, good day."
Elend turned toward the door, and it cracked open slowly. Tindwyl strode
in, hiding her embarrassment.
"How did you know I was out there?" she asked.
"I guessed," Elend said. "You're as bad as Vin. Anyway, good day, both
of you."
Tindwyl frowned as he left; then she glanced at Sazed.
"You really did do a fine job with him," Sazed said.
"Too fine a job," Tindwyl said, sitting. "I actually think that if the people
had let him remain in command, he might have found a way to save the
city. Come, we must return to work—this time, I actually did send someone
for lunch, so we should get as much done as possible before it arrives."
Sazed nodded, seating himself and picking up his pen. Yet, he found it
difficult to focus on his work. His mind kept returning to Vin and Elend. He
wasn't certain why it was so important to him that they make their
relationship work. Perhaps it was simply be1cause they were both friends of
his, and he wished to see them happy.
Or perhaps there was something else. Those two were the best Luthadel
had to offer. The most powerful Mistborn of the skaa underground, and the
most noble leader of the aristocratic culture. They needed each other, and
the Final Empire needed them both.
Plus, there was the work he was doing. The specific pronoun used in
much of the Terris prophetic language was gender neutral. The actual word
meant "it," though it was commonly translated into modern tongues as "he."
Yet each "he" in his book could also have been written as "she." If Vin
really was the Hero of Ages. . .
I need to find a way to get them out of the city, Sazed thought, a sudden
realization washing over him. Those two must not be here when Luthadel
falls.
He put aside his notes and immediately began writing a quick series of
letters.
The two are not the same.
46
BREEZE COULD SMELL INTRIGUE FROM two streets away. Unlike
many of his fellow thieves, he hadn't grown up impoverished, nor had he
been forced to live in the underground. He'd grown up in a place far more
cutthroat: an aristocratic court. Fortunately, the other crewmembers didn't
treat him differently because of his full-blooded noble origin.
That was, of course, because they didn't know about it.
His upbringing afforded him certain understandings. Things that he
doubted any skaa thief, no matter how competent, knew. Skaa intrigue
made a brutal kind of sense; it was a matter of naked life and death. You
betrayed your allies for money, for power, or to protect yourself.
In the noble courts, intrigue was more abstract. Betrayals wouldn't often
end with either party dead, but the ramifications could span generations. It
was a game—so much of one, in fact, that the young Breeze had found the
open brutality of the skaa underground to be refreshing.
He sipped his warm mug of mulled wine, eyeing the note in his fingers.
He'd come to believe that he wouldn't have to worry about intracrew
conspiracies anymore: Kelsier's crew was an almost sickeningly tight
group, and Breeze did everything within his Allomantic powers to keep it
that way. He'd seen what infighting could do to a family.
That was why he was so surprised to receive this letter. Despite its mock
innocence, he could easily pick out the signs. The hurried pace of the
writing, smudged in places but not rewritten. Phrases like "No need to tell
others of this" and "do not wish to cause alarm." The extra drops of sealing
wax, spread gratuitously on the lip of the letter, as if to give extra protection
against prying eyes.
There was no mistaking the tone of the missive. Breeze had been invited
to a conspiratorial conference. But, why in the Lord Ruler's name would
Sazed, of all people, want to meet in secret?
Breeze sighed, pulling out his dueling cane and using it to steady himself.
He grew light-headed sometimes when he stood; it was a minor malady he'd
always had, though it seemed to have grown worse during the last few
years. He glanced over his shoulder as his vision cleared, toward where
Allrianne slept in his bed.
I should probably feel more guilty about her, he thought, smiling despite
himself and reaching to put his vest and jacket on over his trousers and
shirt. But. . 1.well, we're all going to be dead in a few days anyway. An
afternoon spent speaking with Clubs could certainly put one's life in
perspective.
Breeze wandered out into the hallway, making his way though the
gloomy, inadequately lit Venture passageways. Honestly, he thought, I
understand the value in saving lamp oil, but things are depressing enough
right now without the dark corridors.
The meeting place was only a few short twists away. Breeze located it
easily because of the two soldiers standing watch outside the door.
Demoux's men—soldiers who reported to the captain religiously, as well as
vocationally.
Interesting, Breeze thought, remaining hidden in the side hallway. He
quested out with his Allomantic powers and Soothed the men, taking away
their relaxation and certainty, leaving behind anxiety and nervousness. The
guards began to grow restless, shuffling. Finally, one turned and opened the
door, checking on the room inside. The motion gave Breeze a full view of
the room's contents. Only one man sat within. Sazed.
Breeze stood quietly, trying to decide his next course of action. There
was nothing incriminating in the letter; this couldn't all simply be a trap on
Elend's part, could it? An obscure attempt at finding out which
crewmembers would betray him and which wouldn't? Seemed like too
distrustful a move for the good-natured boy. Besides, if that were the case,
Sazed would have to try and get Breeze to do more than simply meet in a
clandestine location.
The door swung closed, the soldier returning to his place. I can trust
Sazed, can't I? Breeze thought. But, if that was the case, why the quiet
meeting? Was Breeze overreacting?
No, the guards proved that Sazed worried about this meeting being
discovered. It was suspicious. If it were anyone else, Breeze would have
gone straight to Elend. But Sazed. . .
Breeze sighed, then wandered into the hallway, dueling cane clicking
against the floor. Might as well see what he has to say. Besides, if he is
planning something devious, it'd almost be worth the danger to see it.
Despite the letter, despite the strange circumstances, Breeze had trouble
imagining a Terrisman being involved in something that wasn't completely
honest.
Perhaps the Lord Ruler had had the same problem.
Breeze nodded to the soldiers, Soothing away their anxiety and restoring
them to a more temperate humor. There was another reason why he was
willing to chance the meeting. Breeze was only just beginning to realize
how dangerous his predicament was. Luthadel would soon fall. Every
instinct he'd nurtured during thirty years in the underground was telling him
to run.
That feeling made him more likely to take risks. The Breeze of a few
years earlier would already have abandoned the city. Damn you, Kelsier, he
thought as he pushed open the door.
Sazed looked up with surprise from his table. The room was sparse, with
several chairs and only two lamps. "You're early, Lord Breeze," Sazed said,
standing quickly.
"Of course I am," Breeze snapped. "I had to make certain this wasn't a
trap of some sort." He paused. "This isn't a trap of some sort, right?"
"Trap?" Sazed asked. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, don't sound so shocked," Breeze said. "This is no simple meeting."
Sazed wilted slightly. "It's. . .that obvious, is it?"
B1reeze sat, laying his cane across his lap, and eyed Sazed tellingly,
Soothing the man to make him feel a little more self-conscious. "You may
have helped us overthrow the Lord Ruler, my dear man—but you have a lot
to learn about being sneaky."
"I apologize," Sazed said, sitting. "I simply wanted to meet quickly, to
discuss certain. . .sensitive issues."
"Well, I'd recommend getting rid of those guards," Breeze said. "They
make the room stand out. Then, light a few more lamps and get us
something to eat or drink. If Elend walks in—I assume it's Elend we're
hiding from?"
"Yes."
"Well, if he comes and sees us sitting here in the dark, eyeing each other
insidiously, he'll know something is up. The less natural the occasion, the
more natural you want to appear."
"Ah, I see," Sazed said. "Thank you."
The door opened and Clubs hobbled in. He eyed Breeze, then Sazed, then
wandered over toward a chair. Breeze glanced at Sazed—no surprise there.
Clubs was obviously invited as well.
"Lose those guards," Clubs snapped.
"Immediately, Lord Cladent," Sazed said, standing and shuffling over to
the door. He spoke briefly with the guards, then returned. As Sazed was
sitting, Ham poked his head into the room, looking suspicious.
"Wait a minute," Breeze said. "How many people are coming to this
secret meeting?"
Sazed gestured for Ham to sit. "All of the more. . .experienced members
of the crew."
"You mean everyone but Elend and Vin," Breeze said.
"I did not invite Lord Lestibournes either," Sazed said.
Yes, but Spook isn't the one we're hiding from.
Ham sat down hesitantly, shooting a questioning glance at Breeze. "So. .
.why exactly are we meeting behind the backs of our Mistborn and our
king?"
"King no longer," a voice noted from the door. Dockson walked in and
sat. "In fact, it could be argued that Elend isn't leader of this crew anymore.
He fell into that position by happenstance—just like he fell into the throne."
Ham flushed. "I know you don't like him, Dox, but I'm not here to talk
treason."
"There's no treason if there's no throne to betray," Dockson said, sitting.
"What are we going to do—stay here and be servants in his house? Elend
doesn't need us. Perhaps it's time to transfer our services to Lord Penrod."
"Penrod is a nobleman, too," Ham said. "You can't tell me you like him
any better than you do Elend."
Dockson thumped the table quietly with his fist. "It's not about who I
like, Ham. It's about seeing that this damn kingdom Kelsier threw at us
remains standing! We've spent a year and a half cleaning up his mess. Do
you want to see that work wasted?"
"Please, gentlemen," Sazed said, trying—without success—to break into
the conversation.
"Work, Dox?" Ham said, flushed. "What work have you done? I haven't
seen you do much of anything besides sit and complain every time someone
offers a plan."
"Complain?" Dockson snapped. "Do you have any idea how much
administrative work it has taken to keep this city from falling upon itself?
What have you done, Ham? You refused to take command of the a1rmy. All
you do is drink and spar with your friends!"
That's enough of that, Breeze thought, Soothing the men. At this rate,
we'll strangle each other before Straff can have us executed.
Dockson settled back in his chair, waving a dismissive hand at Ham, who
still sat red-faced. Sazed waited, obviously chagrined by the outbreak.
Breeze Soothed away his insecurity. You're in charge here, Sazed. Tell us
what is going on.
"Please," Sazed said. "I did not bring us together so that we could argue. I
understand that you are all tense—that is understandable, considering the
circumstances."
"Penrod is going to give our city to Straff," Ham said.
"That's better than letting him slaughter us," Dockson countered.
"Actually," Breeze said, "I don't think we have to worry about Straff
slaughtering us."
"No?" Dockson asked, frowning. "Do you have some information you
haven't been sharing with us, Breeze?"
"Oh, get over yourself, Dox," Ham snapped. "You've never been happy
that you didn't end up in charge when Kell died. That's the real reason you
never liked Elend, isn't it?"
Dockson flushed, and Breeze sighed, slapping both of them with a
powerful blanket Soothing. They both jumped slightly, as if they'd been
stung—though the sensation would be quite the opposite. Their emotions,
once volatile, would suddenly have become numb and unresponsive.
Both looked at Breeze.
"Yes," he said, "of course I'm Soothing you. Honestly, I know Hammond
is a bit immature—but you, Dockson?"
Dockson sat back, rubbing his forehead. "You can let go, Breeze," he said
after a moment. "I'll keep my tongue."
Ham just grumbled, settling one hand on the table. Sazed watched the
exchange with a little bit of shock.
This is what cornered men are like, my dear Terrisman, Breeze thought.
This is what happens when they lose hope. They might be able to keep up
appearances in front of the soldiers, but put them alone with their friends. .
.
Sazed was a Terrisman; his entire life had been one of oppression and
loss. But these men, Breeze himself included, were accustomed to success.
Even against overwhelming odds, they were confident. They were the type
of men who could go up against a god, and expect to win. They wouldn't
deal well with losing. Of course, when losing meant death, who would?
"Straff's armies are getting ready to break camp," Clubs finally said.
"He's doing it subtly, but the signs are there."
"So, he's coming for the city," Dockson said. "My men in Penrod's palace
say the Assembly has been sending missive after missive to Straff, all but
begging him to come take up occupation of Luthadel."
"He's not going to take the city," Clubs said. "At least, not if he's smart."
"Vin is still a threat," Breeze said. "And it doesn't look like Straff has a
Mistborn to protect him. If he came into Luthadel, I doubt there is a single
thing he could do to keep her from slitting his throat. So, he'll do something
else."
Dockson frowned, and glanced at Ham, who shrugged.
"It's really quite simple," Breeze said, tapping the table with his dueling
cane. "Why, even I f1igured it out." Clubs snorted at this. "If Straff makes it
look like he's withdrawing, the koloss will probably attack Luthadel for
him. They're too literal to understand the threat of a hidden army."
"If Straff withdraws," Clubs said, "Jastes won't be able to keep them from
the city."
Dockson blinked. "But they'd. . ."
"Slaughter?" Clubs asked. "Yes. They'd pillage the richest sectors of the
town—probably end up killing most of the noblemen in the city."
"Eliminating the men that Straff has been forced—against his will,
knowing that man's pride—to work with," Breeze added. "In fact, there's a
good chance the creatures will kill Vin. Can you imagine her not joining the
fight if koloss broke in?"
The room fell silent.
"But, that doesn't really help Straff get the city," Dockson said. "He'll still
have to fight the koloss."
"Yes," Clubs said, scowling. "But, they'll probably take down some of the
city gates, not to mention level a lot of the homes. That will leave Straff
with a clear field to attack a weakened foe. Plus, koloss don't strategize—
for them, city walls won't be much help. Straff couldn't ask for a better
setup."
"He'd be seen as a liberator," Breeze said quietly. "If he returns at the
right time—after the koloss have broken into the city and fought the
soldiers, but before they've done serious damage to the skaa quarter—he
could free the people and establish himself as their protector, not their
conqueror. Knowing how the people feel, I think they'd welcome him. Right
now, a strong leader would mean more to them than coins in their pockets
and rights in the Assembly."
As the group thought on this, Breeze eyed Sazed, who still sat quietly.
He'd said so little; what was his game? Why gather the crew? Was he subtle
enough to know that they'd simply needed to have an honest discussion like
this, without Elend's morals to clutter things up?
"We could just let Straff have it," Dockson finally said. "The city, I mean.
We could promise to call Vin off. If that is where this is heading anyway. .
."
"Dox," Ham said quietly, "what would Kell think, to hear you talk like
that?"
"We could give the city to Jastes Lekal," Breeze said. "Perhaps he can be
persuaded to treat the skaa with dignity."
"And let twenty thousand koloss into the city?" Ham asked. "Breeze,
have you ever seen what those things can do?"
Dockson pounded the table. "I'm just giving options, Ham. What else are
we going to do?"
"Fight," Clubs said. "And die."
The room fell silent again.
"You sure know how to kill a conversation, my friend," Breeze finally
said.
"It needed to be said," Clubs muttered. "No use fooling yourselves
anymore. We can't win a fight, and a fight is where this was always going.
The city is going to get attacked. We're going to defend it. And we'll lose.
"You wonder if we should just give up. Well, we're not going to do that.
Kell wouldn't let us, and so we won't let ourselves. We'll fight, and we'll die
with dignity. Then, the city will burn—but we'll have said something. The
Lord Ruler pushed us around for a thousand years, but now we skaa have
pride. We fight. We resist. And we die."
"What w1as this all worth, then?" Ham said with frustration. "Why
overthrow the Final Empire? Why kill the Lord Ruler? Why do anything, if
it was just going to end like this? Tyrants ruling every dominance, Luthadel
smashed to rubble, our crew dead?"
"Because," Sazed said softly, "someone had to begin it. While the Lord
Ruler ruled, society could not progress. He kept a stabilizing hand on the
empire, but it was an oppressive hand as well. Fashion stayed remarkably
unchanged for a thousand years, the noblemen always trying to fit the Lord
Ruler's ideals. Architecture and science did not progress, for the Lord Ruler
frowned on change and invention.
"And the skaa could